The Sun and The Moon
by TheCatalystx
Summary: Life in the Glade is hard enough. Having a brother who constantly overshadows you certainly doesn't help... Jill can't seem to find the courage it takes to crawl out from under his shadow, let alone to follow him when he becomes a Runner. That is, until she has no choice.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer:_** ** _I do not own The Maze Runner triology, the plot, or any characters within it. I only claim my OCs and their story, and anything else that seems new to the story._**

 ** _Great, with that out of the way: Welcome to my first Maze Runner Story! You guys are in for quite a rollercoaster, so in the spirit of that - Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times, and remember to drop a note letting me know what you thought at the end! Enjoy, I'll see you on the other side..._**

* * *

 _Jack and Jill went up the hill_

 _To fetch a pale of water_

 _Jack fell down_

 _And broke his crown_

 _And Jill came tumbling after_

I remember reading once that if any civilization is to survive, it is the morality of altruism that men have to reject. It took me a long time to learn what that meant. Too long. I was raised to believe that the need of the many outweigh the need of the few; it's why I did what I did. It's why I went along with a lot of things I felt were wrong. How can something be wrong if it's ultimately going to save the world? Where's the fault in that, and is it not eventually the greater decision? The outcome justifies the means, and all that.

It wasn't until I was shoved to the edge of the world that I found out how wrong I had been.

* * *

The air was hot and metallic. It burned my eyes, and dried my throat. My tongue felt dense and heavy in my mouth, and the clothes on my body felt annoying. A strange infantile instinct begged me to peel my shirt and pants from my slick skin, but modesty dictated that I suffer. I was restless, and blinked widely at the darkness in front of me.

It was everywhere. Thick enough to keep me from seeing the nose on my own face, and my heart was pounding so heavily in my chest that I almost couldn't hear myself swallow. Blindly, I tentatively felt the ground beneath me.

Hot and metal, it seared the pads of my fingers, and I couldn't touch it for too long. Anywhere my body made contact with it baked. No wonder I was so hot… What is this? Some sort of oven?

No, that's ridiculous. It's clearly just…

Well, I don't know what it is. The metal felt strangely like caging, and I fumbled to make sense of my surroundings. Panic prickled the hairs on the back of my neck and a whimper clawed its way up my throat.

I only just managed to muffle myself when moist breath tickled my outstretched wrist. I jerked my hand back like I was bitten, clutching my hand tightly to my chest and straining to see.

That wasn't my breath.

It wasn't.

Was it?

I began to doubt myself, scrambling into a kneeling position, but then I heard it.

A cough.

Wherever I'm trapped, I'm not alone. This revelation struck a resounding crash of panic through me. Suddenly, I was hyper aware that I wasn't alone. Another cough, ended with a long intake of breath and someone clearing their throat.

 _That voice—_ it's familiar. Strange, how you could know someone by sound alone.

"J-Jack?" My voice was smoother than I anticipated, and higher than I remembered.

The figure, one that I could more _sense_ than see—almost like a presence—froze in front of me. He held his breath, and a heartbeat passed before he reacted.

"…Jill?" His voice was deeper than I remembered, and raspier, too. "Is that—" he coughed again. "Where are you? I can't see!"

"I'm here," I scrambled forward without another thought, reaching blindly for my brother. "I'm coming!" Not that there seemed to be far to go. Wherever we were, it seemed pretty compact.

My fingers fumbled across his forearm, sliding down until our hands locked. We latched onto each other like life preservers; a piece of home to soothe us. He's always been my security blanket. My twin, but I'm treated more as the younger sibling. He's not afraid to admit that it's because I'm a girl, either.

My foot pressed uncomfortably against his ankle, and his knee dug sharply into my thigh, and I was twisted at an awkward angle so we could cling to each other, but it barely scraped my consciousness.

"Where are we?" I whispered, not daring to raise my voice now that we were together.

"I can't tell," Jack murmured, apparently of the same mind as me. No surprise there. "I think—I think we're in a cage of some kind."

"What? Why?" I barely took a breath between questions. "Who put us here? Why's it so hot? Why's it so dark? Does it smell like—barn animals to you? Oh my god, is that you? Jack! You stink!"

"I'm sorry!" He defensively snapped. "Its not like I can shower! Like you said, it's hot! I'm sweaty!" I curled my nose in distaste, and he lightly shoved me into a wall. "Besides, you don't exactly smell like peaches."

I opened my mouth to bite back, but before I got the chance, the entire floor shifted beneath us.

My breath was stolen from me as we were yanked violently into motion, the entire metal box shooting up through the air like an elevator. A red light flickered on, allowing me to see Jack's blonde tousled hair and my own sweat-coated freckled skin. He opened his mouth and he might've said something, but if he was still whispering then it was too loud now for me to catch his words. There were blaring sounds of chains and metal gears whirring and clicking as the contraption worked to catapult us up, up, up.

My grip on his hands tightened as he tried to shake me off, and a noise erupted beside us, barely loud enough to hear. It took me a moment to register what the sound was, but when the word popped into my mind, I was only heavily confused. It sounded like—like a bleat?

Was that a goat?

Jack gave me a facial expression that said he was just as confused as I was.

I shook my head with a frown, my way of saying I had no idea what that was either. Or, I had an idea, but I wasn't sure if it was true.

Another bleat, this time from beside me, and I staggered to the side and fell from my knees in fright. The bleat was masked by a deafening screech, and the entire cage accelerated so fast that my hair was whipping all around my face—in my mouth, in my eyes, in Jack's face.

Jack, his protective instinct taking over, threw himself over me and pinned me to the ground. "Stay down!" He hollered, shielding me from whatever we were flying towards. At first I thought I was hallucinating. But then the silhouette of his arm grew more pronounced, and I knew I wasn't seeing things. It was gradually getting brighter. I tried to sit up when I could've sworn I heard voices on the wind, but Jack roughly shoved my shoulder back to the ground. "Stay down, Jill!"

Before I had the chance to say anything, we ground to an abrupt halt. Sunlight blared down at us, and voices that I didn't even know had been speaking stopped like someone flipped a television off.

I could _hear_ the hum of the day as it filled the cage, and quickly covered my eyes with my hands to help deflect some of the searing sunlight.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Move over, I can't see!"

"Why's he laying like that?"

"Is he dead?"

"Slim it, Gally!"

"He's not dead!... Is he?"

"Wait—look at that! He's got three legs!"

"What?"

"Shut up, man! Stop making stuff up!"

"No, really! Look! One, two—three!"

"There's another one."

"Another leg?"

"No. Another _greenie,_ shuck head, look. There's two of them!"

A chorus of gasps.

Jack, apparently having decided there was no immediate danger, rolled away from me. I squinted through the blazing sun, and up at a crowd of teenagers staring down at us. I don't know what I was expecting, but _this_ was not it, and apparently the feeling was mutual. Some of them jerked back in surprise upon seeing us. Or, specifically, me.

"It's a girl!"

"Bro! Look at her!"

"Two of them!"

"Are they together?"

"What? Obviously!"

"No, like— _together_ , together,"

"How am I supposed to know?"

Then, quietly, "Go get 'em, Gally."

A hush fell over the crowd as they peered down at us. I looked over at Jack with wide eyes, confused, begging him to explain. He was looking up at one of the boys standing over us, ignorant of my silent question.

One of the boys jumped down, the metal echoing harshly in my ears as his feet shook the cage dangerously. It was then that I noticed several things at once.

First, we weren't alone in the cage. There was a smattering of supplies, including a live goat and some barrels with the letters WCKD on them. So that explained the bleating…

Second, all the faces above us were—boys. And _only_ boys. A rational part of my mind reassured me that there had to be girls nearby. They just… weren't around. It's fine.

The boy who jumped down wore a brown shirt, strangely stitched with a patch of tan fabric over the chest, and what can only be described as capris. His shoes were black, with thick black soles, and he had grey socks that sagged around his meaty ankles.

But his most notable features were his eyebrows. I mean, he might've had some other distinguishing characteristic—like, he _might've_ had a face, but I couldn't see it around his eyebrows. They were thin, but they had a life of their own. And they apparently liked to wiggle.

Currently, they were arched at the ends like question marks that had been laid above his eyes. He paused, looking between us. His eyebrows twitched. He focused on Jack. Just as he seemed ready to say something, I spoke.

"Are you Gally?" I boldly demanded.

* * *

 ** _Hey guys! I'm tentatively venturing into the Maze Runner world... XD Do you like it? If so, let me know somehow! You can leave a review, follow, or even favorite if you'd like! I have a pretty good idea I think you guys will like, but if you don't respond well to this first chapter I might not continue at all. It_ will _have romance, but I can't think of anyone to pair Jill with quite yet. Anyways, I'm excited to start this if you guys are liking it!_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: It was brought to my attention that the summary/title of this story sucked. XD So! I changed it. Hopefully it's better, though I'm not sure it is. If anyone has any suggestions, I'm open to them! Summaries are not my forte...**_

 _ **Anyways, this is a MEGA CHAPTER. Don't expect them to all be this long. I just couldn't find a good stopping place, so this is the result... I'll write a bit more at the end, and thank you to everyone who favorited/followed/reviewed!**_

* * *

His eyebrows bowed as he frowned at me, going so far as to stagger a single step away. Murmurs erupted from above us. I felt Jack's gaze searing into the side of my head, and ignored him. My attention was focused solely on Gally.

"How did you know my name?"

I blinked at him. "Someone just said it." It was Gally's turn to blink, and one of the boys nudged another before they quickly quieted. "They told you to come get us and they called you by name… It is Gally, right?"

Shaking his head slightly, as if to clear his head of thoughts, he nodded. "Right. Welcome to the Glade." He held his hand out to me, and Jack stepped in front of where I still knelt so he could take Gally's hand.

"Name's Jack." He said. A few boys whispered feverishly, and Gally's eyebrows dipped again.

"You can remember your name?" He asked, jerking his hand out of my brother's grip. "You're not supposed to be able to remember your name. Who are you people?" His voice was laced with accusation now.

"Us? Who are _we?_ No, who are you!" I spat back from my spot on the ground, angry that he was suspicious of _us_. "We're the ones who were just catapulted into—" I broke off, frustrated, and still very much confused about where exactly we were. "This—place! You're all boys, you're all young, and you're all acting like this is _normal_? Where! Are! We!"

Gally visibly reeled, apparently just as perplexed as we were.

Jack looked between us, and I could tell just by the look on his face that he was more clued in on the situation than I was. His eyes caught mine, and for a brief moment he tried to silently communicate to me. I watched his eyes flicker up to the rest of the boys, and then back to me. I frowned at him, uncomprehending, and Jack's shoulders sagged as he looked away in defeat.

My eyes narrowed minutely before I realized Gally was speaking. "—wait for Alby if you're not going to tell us who you are." His arms were folded, and his face was arranged in what I realized was supposed to be an intimidating expression. As he spoke, I pushed myself off the ground. The circulation in my legs had been cut off due to the strange angle I was in while crammed in this cart, and it created the queer sensation of them being cold even though I was still so hot. I took a quick glance at the boys still crowded around the cart outside before focusing intently on Gally.

"No way," I strode forward and shook my head, leaving no room for discussion. "I need out of this cage _stat_." I tried to move past him, and Gally gave my shoulder a rough shove. I stumbled back, and Jack's chest puffed out as he tugged me behind him and tried to get in Gally's face.

"Don't touch her!" Jack was saying, at the same moment that Gally commanded him to get back.

"Let the greenies out, Gally!"

"Yeah, quit bein' a shank!"

"Yeah, Gally," I meanly mocked. "Quit being a shank."

He pointed at me in warning. "You don't even know what that means, shuckface!"

"Gally," An accented voice called. We all turned to look up at a relatively skinny kid, his dirty blonde mop falling in his eyes slightly as he leaned down to speak to Gally. "They're not gonna hurt anything. What are you gonna do, trap them there all night?"

"If I have to," He stubbornly persisted, crossing his arms tightly over his chest with his eyebrows pinched into a rigid v shape. I raised my own eyebrows, and the boy spoke up again.

"What if the crate shuts and takes you all down… back to where it came from?" Silence descended over the group. "Are you really going to risk yourself for them?"

Gally's hardened expression flickered as he looked around the crate. "If it does, that proves there's another way out." The group shifted above us. "But it won't, because there's not. Right?" He directed that question at us, and my frustration grew. I had no idea what the hell he was on about.

"Let's just put them in the pit, then, Gally." The boy suggested. Murmurs of agreement slid through the crowd, but I stiffened.

The pit? That didn't sound like a great place to be. I don't want to go to the pit! Let's not take them there, let's just stay here!

"No," Gally stubbornly deflected. "They're not getting into the Glade. Not yet."

I didn't want to be thrown in a _pit,_ but I hated to be treated like a menace even more. No siree, I'll take door number three please! The notion that my brother and I were forced here against our will infuriated me, and now we're being accused of—what are we even being accused of?

Angry, I decided to try reasoning with Gally again. "Do I seem like a danger to you?" I threw my hands up, and Gally's eyebrows tensed.

"I don't know," His voice was tight and mocking. "You _are_ a girl,"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" I started, my shoes thudding against the metal as I got right in his face to challenge him.

Jack's fingers narrowly missed my shoulder, and Gally seemed to hesitate with holding his ground against me briefly. But his suspicion won out, and he reached up to shove me back.

He barely had enough time to send me staggering back a step before Jack tore after him. I worried that Jack would overreact and tackle him for a moment, but before he had the chance a new voice cracked through the commotion. His voice alone was enough to split the crowd like a whip, and effortlessly tore the two boys apart. I was surprised at how willingly Jack gave up upon hearing the new voice, shoving Gally roughly away and taking a perverse pleasure in seeing him stumble over some rope in the crate. To say his easy forfeiture was out of character would be putting it mildly. Jack usually likes to finish what he starts…

"Let them up, Gally." He commanded. The word _leader_ floated to the front of my mind, and it was strange how easily this seemed to fit the newcomer's description. He was rather large, with dark skin and the strange non-expression of a politician. His eyes landed briefly on me before flickering over to my brother, a sensation I was more than accustomed to. People tend to write me off pretty quickly. My brother presents a much more interesting front for them to capture.

Jack's hair was wiry and sun-streaked, his skin pleasantly tanned and faring quite well in the stifling heat of the day. His body was like mine—lithe, thin muscles that were deceptively effective. Outwardly, he didn't seem to have much bulk, but that doesn't mean he looked harmless.

That's where the comparison ended between us. There's a reason we're _fraternal_ twins. Where Jack's skin and hair was golden, mine was pale and burnt. By that I mean I had fairly light, delicate skin—someone… I can't remember who… but someone used to call it porcelain. The thought nagged at my mind as I struggled to place a face and name with the sentiment, but I continually came up blank.

I blinked as I realized the newcomer was speaking, tuning in halfway through what was apparently his deciding our fate.

"—something is unusual doesn't mean we should burn them at the stake. We're used to weird here, right, shanks?" He worked the crowd like a natural born leader, and they responded in kind with low chuckles and nods.

"Good that!" A few of them called out, causing the older boy to smile. He looked back to me.

"It ain't normal for you guys to remember your names. That's why we're so suspicious," He casually explained, reaching down in the crate to hold his hand out to me. I eyed his extended hand and briefly mulled his words over.

"You know that sounds crazy, right?" I bluntly stated, locking gazes with him. Silence stretched over the crowd as the older boy's smile tightened and his hand dangled between us.

It felt like forever before he responded, and I worried I'd gone too far, but he suddenly burst into laughter, and that seemed to put the crowd of boys at ease. Some even joined in with weak smiles of their own. Halfhearted, but trying, and that's the most welcoming I'd seen from the group. As I tightly clasped his outstretched hand, I slid a quick glance over to Jack.

He watched me as the leader tugged me from the crate and I was careful to watch my step so I didn't trip in front of everyone. No need to embarrass myself further…

The ground was interesting. There seemed to be quite a lot of grass, bright green and shining in the hot sun, and I was immediately hit with the scent of sweet, rotten manure. I wrinkled my nose distastefully and looked up.

"Does she think _we_ stink?" One of the boys guffawed, and I tried to catch whoever said it, but the crowd was too large.

I was suddenly overwhelmed with what I was seeing. I noticed bizarre things in rapid succession, no one thing standing out more than another. My initial instinct was right. The crowd in front of me, I realized with growing dread, were _all_ boys. I somehow knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was the only girl.

Maybe it was the way their eyes greedily drank in every inch of me, starved and unabashed as if they were unaccustomed to the sight of a female. Or maybe it was the fact that not a single inch of this place seemed to suggest a woman's touch.

"Welcome to the Glade," The boy said behind me as he offered a hand down to Jack. I didn't turn to see whether he took it, too distracted on taking in my surroundings.

Four corners of the area stood out as landmarks. First, directly across from where we stood was a wooden shack that looked straight out of the Dark Ages. As if to intensify the staggering amount of confusion and disorientation I felt, my mind reeled with how I _knew_ what the Dark Ages were, and that the building resembled something from that time. I could remember a page, in a book, with pictures of structures that mirrored the one across from us. I couldn't, however, remember the content of the book, nor where I had gotten it from, or where I was when I read it, or why I was looking at it in the first place.

This was just the first in an endless series of fragments of memories that would come to me over the next few months. Unexplained, and usually totally unhelpful, they would rarely come attached with any sort of meaning. A name of a thing, a concept, or a place I had learned previously. That's all I was granted. But it was more than most of the boys here, so I was counted as fortunate.

The building was the largest structure that seemed to be hand made. It probably took a long time to build, I silently acknowledged, but there were numerous smaller shacks that dotted the rest of the open plain. They were usually big enough to house only a few things, and what looked like hay served as their roofs.

Any structure that stood was made from sticks, or branches bound together with rope. Fires burned in various places, white and black smoke alike wafting to the blue sky. At one end of the field there was a large expanse of trees. A forest, my mind supplied. Or, no… woods, rather. Too small to be a forest, too large to simply be an orchard of some kind.

But there was an orchard. On the opposite end of the field, close by the largest building, were fruit trees and a vegetable garden.

And dotted all around the massive camp were boys. Tending to the gardens and orchard, burning and building things around the camp, feeding livestock, or simply gathered around and talking. And not a single one of them was a girl. It only served to reinforce my growing feeling of being… _different_.

Even more significant than the unisex status of the camp, was the general disregard for what surrounded us. Four giant, towering stonewalls that looked thick enough to be a quarter of a mile deep surrounded us. The grey stone was dirtied with age, black in some parts, weathered and accented with ivy or perhaps simply vines that grew up them. They seemed to reach the very top of the sky, brushing the top of the lid of the world, and I knew with heavy alarm that we were trapped.

Yet, even as I started to freak out—my breath catching in my throat and my heart working over time—I realized no one else was panicking. In fact, everyone in the field seemed right at ease. They didn't even seem to notice the walls at all. They laughed, and joked with each other. They worked on what seemed to me like trivial and pointless tasks. Weed the garden, tend to the orchard, build another fire, feed the livestock—and for what? Why? Why aren't they concentrating on a way out? Why aren't they more afraid?

I turned to look at Jack, my face bewildered and projecting the complicated emotions I was feeling. Afraid, isolated, freakish, skittish… I actually felt a compelling urge to crawl back into the crate, but even as I thought it there were boys who set about closing the giant metal doors. They slammed down and the noise of it echoed over the field, causing me to flinch.

"Name's Alby, as in Albert." The leader said. "What's your names?"

I looked to Jack, who looked away from the giant walls with a stoic expression. I knew he was just as freaked by them as I was, but Jack has always been good at hiding what he's thinking. It took a special attention to detail to notice his tells—and I was an expert in his tells. The downward tug at the corner of his mouth told me all I needed to know.

"I'm Jack, as in Jackson. This is my sister, Jill, as in Jilliana." He said with a small smile, looking back at me for the first time since we were down in the crate. The expression on my face registered in his mind, and he instinctually took a step towards me, his smile traded in for concern. Instantly, I breathed easier.

I had almost missed the gasps that erupted from the crowd, but the evident shock on Alby's face was impossible to miss.

"You're brother and sister?" He asked in amazement, a strange glint marring his eye. I wondered if he had a sibling he missed, or if there was a smaller version of him running around here somewhere. I glanced around the boys, unable to see anyone who looked a thing like him.

"Twins, actually," I supplied, which only further inspired the gawks Jack and I received.

"But you don't look alike," said the one with the accent from before. The one who tried to convince Gally to let us out.

I grinned ironically. "Yes, well, thank god for that."

The boy looked at me strangely, and Jack decided to jump in to provide the social skills I severely lacked. "We're fraternal."

"What makes you so special?" Said one young boy, the youngest one I'd seen yet. He was young enough to be left with plenty of baby fat. I wouldn't place him over the age of thirteen. My face scrunched up in confusion, as the boy's question was odd, but his tone suggested he was jealous, which held me back from making a mean retort. "None of us got to stay with our family!"

Choosing, perhaps impolitely, to ignore him, I turned to Alby. "Where are we?" I asked him, allowing some of my anxiety to creep into my voice. Alby's face grew slightly exhausted, as if he was tired of having to deal with us. "I mean, what is this place?"

He sighed and began to stride past. "It's a long story, greenies. Think it's best if we break it to ya slowly. Trust me. In the mean time, I'll take you on the Tour and explain some."

I hopped to keep pace with him, barely paying attention to my surroundings because I was stuffed to the brim with questions for him. "Where are all the girls?" I asked, apparently having decided that was the most vital question. Funny, I don't remember deciding that.

Alby glanced at me. "I'm lookin' at her," He said, and I forgot to follow him for a minute. Jack looked at me with a mirrored expression.

"That can't be true," I insisted, stumbling as I struggled to make my shorter legs pump as fast as his.

"She's the only girl?" Jack frowned, easily matching Alby's stride.

"You can bet on it. You two actually caused quite the commotion today." He informed us, leading us over to the orchard and gardens. Boys watched as we passed, their eyes lingering on me in particular. I quickened my pace and ducked my head.

"We popped out of the ground with a goat. I think that warrants a commotion," Jack observed as if it should be obvious.

"Don't flatter yourselves." Jack and I blinked in surprise at Alby's harsh tone, exchanging a surprise glance. "You think you two sorry slintheads were the first ones to come in through the box? No, you were just the first to arrive together like that. And you're the first girl."

I was struggling to wade through the shit he had just thrown at our feet, metaphorically speaking, but luckily Jack was a bit quicker on the pick up.

"You mean this happens a lot?" My brother translated, which instantly answered several jumbled questions I was prepared to fire at Alby.

Alby only grew more frustrated. "No! Are you two even listening? Clean the klunk outta your ears, would ya? That box comes once a month." His finger pointed back at the large metal square in the ground where the crate that delivered us here once was. "It brings fresh supplies, and a fresh greenbean each time. In the past, it's always been one boy, and his memory is almost always wiped clean. Sometimes you'll remember your name—if your lucky." He paused to let the clarified information soak in. "But this month, it brought _two_ greenbeans. Not only that, but twins. And a _girl_ , to boot… Never happened before."

The uniqueness of our situation finally hit home for me. Finally, the gawking stares and Gally's reaction made a lot more sense. We were a bizarre delivery to them. It was totally out of the ordinary for everyone, not just us. Still, something about the way Alby explained this bothered me. I looked around at the boys, how they still seemed to totally ignore the giant walls that caged us in, and a new question surfaced. "How long have you been here?" I asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

Alby sighed, and put his hands on his hips. "Finally." He said. "You're asking the right questions." Scratch that. _Very_ afraid to know the answer. "I've been here for three years."

I felt my head swimming with the heaviness of this surprise. I expected maybe a few months, a year—tops. But _three_ years? What's even happened in the last three years for me…

Come to think of it, what _has_ happened in the last three years? Strangely, I couldn't remember. I mean it. I couldn't recall a single detail of my life, apart from when I woke up next to Jack down in that crate. I knew he was my twin, and I knew my name. But that's all I knew. How old was I three years ago? Where was I? What about my family? Do we even have one, or is Jack all there is for me?

And what about the others? How old are they? What happened to their families? Are we all orphans, or are we just someone's prisoner? Is this some kind of death camp?

I recalled the number of boys I'd seen since we got here. I estimated there were maybe around fifty, or sixty, in total. Doing some quick mental math, my face scrunched, and I recalculated the numbers three times before I interrupted the boys.

Alby was explaining what the Track-Hoes do as the resident gardeners when I cut him off. "Wait," I said, blinking slowly at him in confusion. "Given the number of boys here… I thought you said there's never been more than one in the—box," (Strange to call it that) "to arrive at a time?"

Alby crossed his arms at me. "There hasn't. At least, not that I can remember." He glanced between us. "And I don't think this is the kind of thing you just _forget_. I still remember my first day in the Glade like it was yesterday." He looked like he wanted to add more, but I barreled over him.

"But there have to be at least fifty boys here, right?" Jack was watching me strangely as Alby slowly confirmed my math. "If the box only comes once a month," the term slid from my mouth with ease now, "then that would mean it's been at least a little over four years since this—thing started. Whatever it is."

"This _thing_ is your life now," Alby snapped, anger painting his face. I flinched at his ferocity, taking an unconscious, minute step behind Jack. "You'll do well to remember that! You're stuck here, same as the rest of us. You might as well accept it right here, right now," He jabbed the air with each word for emphasis. "None uh this makes any sense. Got it, greenie? We've been searchin' for answers for as long as I've been here. And we've got _nothin'_. So you might as well come to terms with that, and fast."

I frowned, my analytical mind struggling to cope with his mentality. "So you're just _okay_ with not knowing?"

" _Hell_ no!" Alby growled. "But I ain't got much of a choice!"

The thin, wiry guy that seems to pop up at any sign of conflict appeared over Alby's shoulder. "You're gonna give her a buggin' heart attack, Alby! She's scared, can't you see that?"

My face flamed red, and I resisted the urge to duck even farther behind Jack, who glanced back at me with Alby and the wiry guy.

"She's pushin' me, Newt," Alby huffed, and the wiry guy smirked.

"That ain't hard to do, Alby." He joked, physically nudging him in the shoulder to prove his point. Alby wasn't knocked off balance, not even close, but it drew a rueful smile from the older boy, nonetheless. Like that, the wiry boy— _Newt_ —had dissipated the tension from the atmosphere once again. "Maybe I should give the tour, if you're just gonna bug out on them at every question."

"Hey," Alby put his hands up and shook his head. "Be my guest. Got better things I could be doin' than leadin' around a couple uh slintheaded greenies."

And with that, Alby took his leave, stalking off in the direction of what he had informed us was the Homestead. I pulled my mouth into a mirthless smile, looking at Newt as I breathed, "What a sweetheart, that guy." I blinked at Jack innocently. "I think he likes us!"

"Give it time," Newt grinned. "He'll warm up to you eventually. Between us three and the fence post, I think the git's given too many tours to too many newbies. I think we've all been waiting for the day the greenies stop comin', the day something changes. And nobody's been waitin' longer than Alby." He paused, scrunching his nose. "Course, sending _two_ newbies ain't exactly what we had in mind. Which is probably partly why he was so—sweet. To you."

I sighed, looking at the black shoes on my feet. These clunky boots… were they even mine? I tried to find some sort of sense of ownership as I looked down at them, but they were just shoes. Not _my_ shoes, just plain old shoes. I wondered if that was part of the deal, getting sent here. They change what you wear, too. Maybe they change _everything_. Who knows? They took our memory, somehow. And certainly they took our freedom, our choice, assuming we had one in the past. If we didn't, would I feel so terrible? Would this fate _really_ feel so bad if I'd been a prisoner all along? I don't know. I don't know, and it's too early in my arrival to be contemplating questions with such heavy baggage attached to them.

I realized they had continued with the tour whilst I had been musing over my silly shoes. I fumbled to catch up with the topic.

"Most greenies are stuck with the Slicers," He was explaining. "At least at first. It's not so bad, really. It could be worse—you could be stuck with the Sloppers, or the Baggers."

None of those positions sounded appealing, and apparently I wore my sentiments on my face, because Newt broke into laughter.

It sounded weird, I realized. Strange. It was as if it was a song you hadn't heard in ages, but you knew all the words to. I wasn't sure how to feel about it, really, but one thing is for sure. I knew it had been a _very_ long time since I heard laughter. Somehow, I decided I quite liked it. It put me at ease.

"Well, we've never had to put a girl in a job before. Maybe you'll have more of a choice." He brightly mused, shrugging a shoulder. "There's a first time for everything!"

I smiled back at the blonde-headed chipper fellow leading us around, but inwardly I cringed at the options he had laid before me thus far. Slopper, Slicer, Bagger? None of those hold any sort of appeal to me. I don't even know what they do, actually. Maybe I'll try to be a Track-Hoe. I'd never tried my hand at having a green thumb, but now seemed like an opportune moment to give it my best.

"Onwards, then," He pointed, "The Homestead is a pretty important place. Think of it as a home base, if you want. The rest of us do. It's where the Cooks and the Medjacks are usually found. It's where we eat and sleep. This whole area's called the Glade, did Alby mention that?" Without pausing to hear an answer, he was off again. "We call ourselves the Gladers. Over there you can see the Builders and the Bricknicks. They're strong physically, but a lot of people say the lack in—other areas." He winked at us and it didn't take a genius to catch his drift.

"Is that Gally?" I asked, referring to one of the boys who was currently perched at the top of a structure, his brown shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. His eyebrows were bent like a bird's wings in mid-flight, and I could feel his gaze sticking uncomfortably on me from where he was working. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him, but just barely.

"Good that." Newt's dimples made another appearance as he said, "You're a fast learner. Guess that rules out the architectural aspects of life in the Glade for ya," He good-naturedly joked, and Jack and I both smiled at his quick wit and pace. He's definitely more suited for Tours than Alby. "No worries, plenty more to do. And you'll _have_ to do something, sorry 'bout it, so no funny ideas. It's one of the three rules."

"What are the other two?" Jack asked.

Newt sighed and stepped ahead of us to walk backwards so he could look us in the face. "Like I already said, no slackers are allowed. You gotta do something, and even the nastiest jobs need done by someone. No one is too good for it. Secondly, _never_ hurt another Glader. This whole thing is built on trust. If we can't trust each other, there's no balance." He paused to glance between the two of us. "If you do hurt another Glader, more serious consequences will come into play."

"Has that ever happened?" I asked, and Jack nudged me, the signal he uses to tell me I'm being too blunt.

Newt's face shifted darkly, an expression that seemed strange on his benevolent face. "It's been known to happen, but only in extreme cases."

"What happens?" I asked, ignoring Jack's rougher nudge.

He locked gazes with me, and in a very decisive manner, he said, "Nothing good." And with that, he dropped the subject and was onto the next. "Thirdly, you're never supposed to go outside the Glade."

I frowned. "Outside?" Glancing up at the massive walls, my confusion only grew. "What's outside the Glade?"

For the second time, as way of explanation, Newt said, "Nothing good." As if on cue, two older boys came tearing through the farthest wall from us. It was then that I realized that not only did the wall have a massive opening, but someone had been outside the Glade.

I turned wide eyes to Newt. "They were outside the Glade!" I scream-whispered. "What does that mean? Why isn't anyone doing anything? They broke a rule, right?"

Newt's laughter cut me off. I reared back, my mouth clamping shut as I watched in confused embarrassment while Newt guffawed at me. Jack was grinning, though he didn't know why. I glared at the pair of them, not fond of being the butt of some joke.

I crossed my arms, and glared at the boy as he began to settle, his hand clutching his stomach as he tried to get himself under control. He opened his eyes and peeked at my face, which nearly sent him into another round of laughs.

But my face lit up a bright, scorching red, and I promptly turned on my heel to stomp away.

"Jill!" Jack called out, and I could practically _hear_ the grin on his face. "Wait, come back. You don't even know where you're going!"

"I don't care! Somewhere less deceitful and mocking, I hope," I pouted righteously back at them. Newt sighed and stopped laughing, but apparently couldn't wipe the smile from his face as he jogged to catch up with me.

"Wait," He said, putting a hand on my shoulder to stop me. A hand that I quickly shoved off, disinterested in anymore ridicule that might come from listening to him. "I'm sorry! It's just—the greenies are always so… _green._ "

I dryly pursed my lips at him and turned to leave. "Yes, thank you for that," I quipped, and his hand dragged me back by my elbow this time. He threw his arm around me and steered me back towards Jack amicably, a gesture that caught me off guard and teased a small, unwarranted smile at the corner of my lips. Still, I tried my best to scowl.

"No offense meant, miss," He almost _obnoxiously_ continued. That was a good description of the lad, come to think of it. His actions, behaviors, and words usually toed the line of being obnoxious without ever actually crossing it. Early on, I thought I had everyone pretty well pegged in the Glade. Turns out, Newt proved me wrong. But we'll get to that later. "I think I've explained the rules rather poorly. _You_ shanks can't leave the Glade. The Runners can."

Jack snapped to attention, and just like that, all the focus was off of me. I was mostly grateful, but also minutely annoyed that he still had that effortless effect over me. I wasn't one to soak up the limelight, and he understood that about me. He was the sun, and I was the giant floating rock that lived in his shadow. Sometimes, he would cast his reflection onto me. And in those moments, I would shine. Otherwise, it was a pretty lonely existence. Who can compete with the sun?

"Who are the Runners?" Jack perked up.

"Ah, the Runners," Newt's arm had slid from me at some point, and he was closer to Jack now, though I don't recall exactly when that happened. "They're the elite." I could practically see Jack panting; this type of thing played straight into his wheelhouse. "What you need to know first, is what's out there."

It was my turn to perk up. We were both on the edge of our seats, hanging off Newt's every word. It didn't seem to register to him—at least, not outwardly. He turned to the walls and we followed his gaze. The sun was fast setting, which made it easier to look at the top of the walls—which somehow looked bigger. I think it probably had a lot to do with the growing shadows they cast on the grass, seeming to make whatever was under it disappear. They loomed over us and they were so tall I couldn't imagine standing atop one of them without bumping my head on the ceiling of the world.

"Out there, it's no joke. Never, ever go out there. You do and you won't come back. I mean it." The mirth had drained from Newt's voice, from his face, and his body. Without his humor, his words carried more weight than anything I'd heard since we arrived. I shivered, but it wasn't because of the dying light. "Let me get through this before you ask questions," His eyes flickered pointedly back to me. I did my best not to shy away, and he continued without missing a beat, turning to look back at the walls with his arms crossed.

"It still doesn't make any sense to us. I'll tell you that right off the bat, since I know it'll be your first point. But the walls that you see here?" Jack and I nodded, our mouths parted slightly in wonder. "They're not even the half of it. There are hundreds more of them. Thousands, even. We don't exactly know. They make up a maze, and it's the Runners' job to try and map them. That's the only way out of here." Jack and I looked at each other, and I shook my head at him because I knew what he was thinking. I knew he was dying to get out there, to try and help us get out. Of course he is. But no way in hell, not while I draw breath. Not if it's as dangerous as Newt's making it sound—and it doesn't seem like he's here to lie to us. "The walls change at night. They move, so the maze is new every day. That's why we can't map it, that's why we can't ever find the end. The Glade's walls close every night—and if you're left out there, you'll never find your way back. And if the maze isn't enough, there are other things that'll kill you first."

"What things?" I asked, unable to stop myself. Newt didn't look annoyed, though. Only somber as he looked at me and answered, his face grim.

"We call them Grievers. You don't want me to describe them, and I couldn't anyway. No one who has seen one has ever lived to tell about it. Just, trust me when I say they're the stuff of nightmares. And they won't hesitate to kill you. One sting from them is as good as a death sentence."

I thought he would go on, but he didn't. He stopped, and the silence that stretched was filled with dread, confusion, and most of all, fear. Well, if his job was to scare the piss out of us, he'd pulled it off beautifully.

I wrapped my arms around myself and turned my eyes away from the walls, even as they drew to a loud close for the night. Looking over my shoulder, I watched as the sight of the walls moving entranced Jack. Ordinarily, I would be gawking right there with him—but after the explanation that Newt gave us, the last thing I wanted to do was look at those walls for any longer than I had to. I hated them. I resented everything they represented, everything they held. An unnecessarily difficult obstacle course that some sick freaks had plotted to pit us against, since we most assuredly didn't end up here by accident, and it was equally assuredly man-made. Only man is wicked enough to think of something like this.

Monsters and mazes. A real life nightmare, and for what? I didn't care. I couldn't think about it any longer. I looked away from Jack's inspired face, and began to head off towards the Homestead. This time, neither of them stopped me.

* * *

That night, the entire Glade had prepared a massive celebration. Actually, I'm not exactly sure what we're celebrating—no one's said, really, but I get the impression that they use just about any excuse for a party that they can think of. Maybe the garden's doing well, or the pigs are particularly fat this week. I don't know.

I can't blame them, either, as I sit on a log near the giant bonfire they had ignited. I watched the flames blankly, basically unseeing as they roared. My mind was miles away.

Focused, mostly, on the Glade. The boys were all in good spirits, a bit of a difference from their moods I'd seen in the day. The only other time I'd seen them this colorful, in the short time I'd been here, was when Jack and I popped out of the box.

I doubted they got too much excitement, which explains the excessive celebrations. What else is there to do? What better way to kill time than drink, have a little healthy competition, and gorge themselves on food whenever they could afford to?

I swished the dirty water in my cup. It wasn't clear, as I was accustomed to. Rather, it was somewhat murky and tasted faintly of dirt and moss. The best I could do is pray it's sanitary, or that my stomach adjusts to the new minerals quickly.

God, why should I have to adjust to unsanitary water? Why should I have to find every excuse to celebrate anyways? I mean, what the heck did I do to deserve being stuck in here—forever, probably! The whole thing felt rigged. Alby had been here for three years, the longest stretch of time of anyone here. How long would I be here before it was over? Would I ever see a horizon again, or would a giant stonewall forever block the view? Would I ever get out, or would I simply die, either from sickness or from breaking the rules?

I'm _not_ a rule breaker. I'm not. But I think anyone can change, can do uncharacteristic things when they're pushed to their limits. I'm afraid of what I might become while trapped in here. I'm afraid, by the end of it, I might not recognize myself.

Part of it, too, I guess is that the anonymity and omnipotent presence that whoever did this to us seems to have. By that I mean, we have no idea who it is. And there's not a damn thing we can do about it. There's never been any clue. I'm sure I would've heard by now, the boys would be very angry and bitter and probably more than willing to bash whomever stuck us here—if they knew. But they don't. And why us, anyways? What have we done? And why under _these_ circumstances?

Thinking about it objectively, it's pretty ridiculous. They seem to have an endless supply of youthful boys at their disposal. How did they get them? By force? Did they trick us? Did we volunteer? I can't imagine that we would've. Who would sign up for this?

So they take _one_ from this endless supply of boys, wipe all his memories—usually including his _name._ He now has no family, no identity, no childhood, and little vocabulary. Launched back into near infancy, the boy is then loaded up in a cart, along with basic survival supplies. Nothing crucial, like pertinent medical supplies… They throw in some food, clothes, and maybe one piece of livestock, and they send him on his way. Up, up in the most terrifying mode of transportation known to man because A: He's blind, because they take the lights from him. B: When he can see, he's being launched mercilessly upwards through the earth to some unknown destination. Will he even stop before he reaches the top, or will he simply crash and die?

Then, finally, he's spit out into the Glade. You already know all about that. And the sweetest part of the deal is that the only way out is through a constantly changing maze, which, by the way, is also dotted with terrifying monsters. They're given no weapons, no advantages at all. And they're left there. Forever. Until they find a way out.

And what happens on the off chance that they actually _manage_ to find a way out? It's too much to even consider.

Who would do such a thing? This isn't fluke. This isn't by chance. This is very intentional, very intricately planned. We're like some mad scientist's lab rats.

"Cheer up, greenie. It's not that bad, is it?" Alby said, moving towards me with a jar of some sort of amber liquid sloshing in it. He raises it to gesture at where I was hunched on the log, facing the fire, shutting the world out. If Alby, leader of the Glade, eldest boy and the only one who's been here for three years can say _it's not that bad_ … maybe it isn't.

I looked down at my cup of dirty water, and heard someone nearby scream out a nonsensical string of the strange cusswords that these boys have invented. And I realized, yes. It can be _that bad_.

"Just, mulling over the prospects of the rest of my life." I sullenly admitted. Alby actually scoffed, a genuine smile on his face, and settled on the log next to me.

He let out a long-winded sigh. "…Yeah." He said. "It's pretty bleak. The best you can hope to aspire to is… an arguably suicidal athlete who chases shadows every day."

" _Every day_?" I parroted, disbelief leaking into my voice. Alby nodded, his face twisted smartly. I let out a low whistle. "Those poor shanks… It's got to be so frustrating."

Alby made a mockingly impressed face, raising his jar of mystery drink to me. "Hey," He nodded. "You're already picking up on the lingo. See, you're fitting in just fine."

"Not something I'm happy about," I muttered, and Alby sighed at my glum thoughts, bringing his mood down, probably. "I mean, I want to fit in. It's just—why should I have to, you know?" Alby looked at me strangely. "I mean—what's the point?"

His eyes tightened again. "See, this is why I couldn't deal with giving you the Tour. You expect me to have the answers to these questions, and I _don't_. And you're not the first one to ask them, either, so quit acting like you're the only one subjected to this life!"

He huffed, shoved off the log, and spilled a bit of his stinking mystery drink on my knee. I sigh heavily and swiped at the drink. Tentatively, I brought my fingers up to my nose and sniffed.

I winced and jerked my hand away. Someone behind me burst into laughter, and I leaned back on the log to peer over my shoulder. Sure enough, Newt was staggering his way to me through his giggles, pointing at me with watering eyes.

"Y-You just did that, didn't you?" He cackled, and I rolled my eyes, but scooted over slightly despite myself.

"You're pissed." I bluntly pointed out, and he nodded, bubbling with more laughter as he plopped onto the log next to me.

"Too right, this stuff tastes like rotten orange peels, but it'll do the trick." He sloshed it under my nose. It was the same smell as before—I don't know if you're aware of what rotten oranges smell like, but it's nauseating. That, mixed with what's sure to be some sort of yeast or bread, and you've got yourself some hooch.

There it is again. The random vocabulary—no idea where I learned it, why I know what it is, how it seemed to stick in my head while more important information (like how I ended up here) didn't… I sighed, wordlessly taking the jar from him.

His eyebrows shot up as he watched me slowly raise the glass to my lips, staring down into the amber liquid and spotting a bit of soggy bread still swimming in the bottom. _Lovely_.

I did well not to wrinkle my nose, like I did when I first came out of the box and caught wind of their fertilizer, and paused just before I touched the jar to my lips. Newt sighed in exasperation, apparently having been waiting for the moment I took my first sip to jeer quite loudly. His fists flopped back to his lap and he gave me a dejected pout. "What?" He knowingly groaned. "So many questions…"

"Who made this?" I lifted the jar and swished the liquid, watching the squelchy bread swish around the bottom of the jar as I waited for an answer.

"Gally. No clue at all what it is, really." Newt crossed his ankles and propped his hands on the log. "So don't ask. Really."

I crookedly smirked at him and raised an eyebrow as I peered back down at the liquid. "It's called hooch." I supplied, obviously catching him off guard as his head snapped around to look at me.

The liquid was warm, lukewarm at best, and definitely had not been properly filtered. It might as well have been filtered with sweaty gym socks, for all the flavor it had, and what little detectable fruit was in it had obviously gone rank while it fermented. I coughed, and nearly gagged as a bit of mushy bread gunked up the middle of my tongue. Then, I took another swig, surprising us both, and I waited as the strong burn of alcohol numbed my tongue. Only then did I proceed to scrape my tongue free of mushy bread, spitting it into the grass.

Newt opened his mouth to say something, but I interrupted him. I felt warmer now, thanks to the hooch, and my head was lighter. Suddenly, being here didn't seem so bad. It wasn't quite so… damning.

"Where do you sleep?" I blatantly asked. Newt's eyes bugged, and his nose and cheeks dusted bright pink. His reaction was cute, but confusing, and it wasn't until I replayed the question in my mind that I realized why he looked about ready to fall over and die of embarrassment. "Oh!" I choked out before he could say a word. My face felt very hot, and I looked anywhere but at him as I rushed to explain. "I just meant, no one's told me where we sleep, that's all. That's _all_!"

"Right, that's good because for a moment there I thought you were coming onto me." He easily breezed, and it took a bit longer than usual for me to register that he was joking. Once I saw his good-natured smile, I knew I was in the clear, and I breathed out a laugh of relief. "Wouldn't that be awkward? I'm a wanted man, you know."

"Oh?" I struggled to keep a straight face, soaking up the easy banter that was developing between us. "What with all the women in the Glade?" Busted.

"I meant before. I was a wanted man _before_."

"So you can remember that far back?" I tilted my head and some of the mirth was sucked from the conversation, but his smile never fell as he persevered.

"Yeah, definitely." He stubbornly persisted. "So just you remember that next time you try to hit on me. It's a long wait."

"Got it," I shrugged, trying to mimic his good-natured way of saying things. I didn't quite hit the mark, but the efforts were appreciated as he beamed at me.

"Right, well, most the newbies sleep in hammocks in the Homestead." He pointed over to an area that was covered. "Or, there are a few beds, too, but only the privileged have earned a bed."

"It's a weird sort of hierarchy going on in the Glade." I observed, and he nodded in agreement.

"But it's worked out so far," He left that open ended, and it almost made it awkward. But, Newt being Newt, he quickly remedied that. "You could sleep out here, I suppose. It doesn't ever rain so there's no risk of illness, knock on wood," He knocked on the log and quickly rambled on, though I was still stuck on the part about no rain. "It'd be nice to sleep under the stars, I bet. If you want, you can do that. There's not a lot of beauty here, but the night sky just about takes the cake."

"It doesn't rain?" I frowned, and Newt blinked to transition backwards in the conversation.

"Er, good that. Another perk if you ask me." He nodded.

I looked back down at the grass, protruding around my boot.

"You know, I have to ask," Newt continued. "How'd you know this was called hooch? We've been callin' it Gally's Klunk Juice for months."

I winced. "Ew. I dunno, I just knew." Newt frowned at me, contemplating my words before apparently accepting it. I hesitated before I spoke, but Newt had a way of making me feel like I could say just about anything and it would be alright. "...I think….I think this whole thing is rigged, ya know?"

Newt stilled, focusing on me. "Yeah," His voice was quieter than I'd ever heard it. "Shucked up, ain't it?"

I humphed. "I mean, there's no rain. But the grass is green, the vegetables grow, and there's that," I nudged the cup at my foot, knocking it over and letting the water spill into the miracle grass. "So I guess my question is, is there a natural water source nearby?"

"Sure," He jerks his chin towards the woods. "There's a stream near the graves."

I paused at the casual mention of graves, and noted that they were apparently located in the woods before continuing. "If it doesn't rain, how is the natural water source replenished? How does the grass continue to grow? How do the trees survive? Where does the water come from? This whole thing, literally, is being controlled."

We sat in silence as Newt contemplated my words. I watched as Jack got on with the Builders, though there was notable distance between he and Gally. "Bloody hell, I guess you're right!..." I didn't comment as he continued to mull over what my words meant, probably knowing even better than I did. "Buncha jacked up wankers, aren't they?"

"Exactly." I confirmed. "Jacked up wankers." Apparently my American accent was too much to handle, because as soon as the words left my mouth he was doubled over.

"I mean, don't they have anything better to do?" He continued, gasping for breath. I split into a grin despite how serious the topic should've been.

"I bet they freak out if we get close to solving the maze." I bitterly continued.

"They probably throw a Griever out, just to keep us away from the exit."

"We would never know!... We're living a real life version of Pac-Man."

Until that moment, I had no idea that I remembered what Pac-Man was. What surprised me even more was Newt's doubling over, apparently very aware of what Pac-Man was, and very amused by the comparison. I don't know how we knew what that was. I don't know _how_ I can randomly remember random stuff like that. We continued laughing, because it was the only reaction we could have. It's the only thing they can't take from us. Anything else, and frankly, I don't think I'd have much of a will to live. If I took everything I realized seriously, I don't know that I'll make it out of here alive.

Our laughter died down, and we sat in comfortable silence. Newt and I formed a faster friendship that night than I've ever had before. I didn't know it then, but it would also prove to be the strongest friendship I've ever had.

"Your brother seems to be adjusting well," He observed, and I followed his words to Jack. We both focused on him, watching as he and Gally spoke. Their voices didn't raise but their postures changed. Gally pointed at a nearby circle of sand, something that I hadn't realized was used for anything before now. It still wasn't making sense. I knew it meant something important when Newt sat up straight from his relaxed position on the log.

"What is that?" I asked, glancing down at Newt's carefully guarded expression before looking back up at my brother. I slowly rose as Jack followed Gally to the circle, but it wasn't until he jerked his head to the side and shook out his arms that I realized what was happening.

My brother was about to fight Gally. I launched myself off the log and stomped towards them, ignoring Newt's calls behind me.

* * *

 _ **So, let me just say that I know there are some discrepancies between the movie and the book. I am not adhering to one story over another, so there will be some variation between the two. One of those variations is the fact that Alby is not the first Glader in my story. In the book, he's one of the first, but not the first. The timeline didn't logically fit in my opinion, since it never mentions multiple boys being sent up (so far as I can recall), and Thomas estimates there are maybe 60 boys at the Glade when he arrives. So, if only one boy is sent up a month... and if Alby was the first one there... and he's been there for three years? that math **_don't add up _**XD But that's okay! It's not something that really matters, it's just something I noticed.. I've rambled long enough. Ultimately, I am the author of course. So I can do what I want. Just know that there will likely be more variations like that in the future, especially since there are such large differences between the books and the movies...**_

 ***** You can skip this part if you want- I'm hoping Alby doesn't seem terribly out of character. Another thing I've noticed as I began writing this is that Movie Characters and Book Characters are WAYYY different. In the book, Alby is pretty harsh with Thomas. He's been there so long that he already knows the Glade like the back of his hand, and any questions the newbies have/ideas they want to present him with on how to get out PROBABLY getting tiring after hearing it so often. After all he's been through. So I can understand him being a snippy bitch with Thomas in the book. It's interesting to me that the actor chose not to play him that way in the movie... it did make him more likeable, though. Idk, I just wanted to point that out, in case you're worried he's OOC. I'll make sure The Divine Command addresses Alby's obvious distaste for newbies in my fic, or-Jill in particular, I suppose...

 _ **Thank you for reading this monster chapter! If you liked it, review and tell me why, or simply follow/favorite to keep up with my updates!**_

 _ **P.S. let me know if you're curious about the title; I doubt I'll get the chance to explain it in the story, so I'll put in an author's note next chapter to explain it if you're wondering what it's all about.**_


	3. Chapter 3

In hindsight, I don't know what bothered me so much about the idea of my brother fighting Gally. It's not like I _liked_ Gally. He's a bully, and he was always suspicious of us.

Maybe I didn't want them to see my brother that way. I think, maybe some cognitive part of me was afraid of the Gladers knowing how Jack can be… like a dog with a bone.

But I also knew that once he started something, it was _very_ hard to get him to stop before it was finished. It's one of his best traits… and also one of his worst. And one day it'll get him killed, I swear.

"Jill, wait a minute!" Newt's accent was exaggerated as he struggled to catch up to me, but I didn't even pause in my stride.

 _Why are they so damn far?_

"Jill—" He continued, "Would you just—bloody _slow down_ ,"

As we approached the boys, many of them had hooch in their hands and a huge smile on their faces as they waited for the excitement to begin.

"No way, ya slinthead!" Said one of the boys. He looked to be about sixteen, same age as Jack and I, and had an under bite with a lisp that I couldn't help but think made him seem innocent. "Gally's got at least forty pounds on him."

And that was an exaggeration if I'd ever heard one. Gally was shorter than Jack, first of all, and most of his weight pools in his damn ankles. I shot that guy a withering look as we passed.

" _Forty_ —man, you _must_ be a builder, 'cause that's the shuckiest klunk I've heard all night!" Chortled an older boy with black hair, his thick arms crossed smugly over his chest as he shook his head.

"Oh yeah? How about this, I bet your next meal from Frypan that Gally will have him kissin' the dirt in—fifteen seconds flat!"

I didn't pause to see whether the older Asian boy took that bet. My eyes were focused on Jack, and Newt was still buzzing in my ear. I looked back at Newt just before we reached my brother, and his entire face was asking me _what the bloody hell_ I was trying to do. Or, maybe he was just frowning at me, but… you know. He followed me here, and I don't know him all that well yet so I can't say he was here to have my back, but I do know that I hoped so.

Jack turned away from whomever he'd been talking to; eyes focused on the ring as he stepped forward and almost ran into me. He jerked back as his foot almost crushed my toe and his chin snapped up, "Jill?" He frowned, as if he had forgotten I was here at all. "What are you doing?" Jack didn't fight me as I pushed him away from the ring, drawing stares as the only girl in the camp pushed her oversized brother around like a ragdoll.

"No, Jack! What the hell are _you doing_!" We had a bit of distance between us and the crowd, though they still spectated our argument, and the sound of the back of my hand smacking his shoulder cracked over the open field behind us.

Newt took that as his cue to duck out, awkwardly trudging up to a group of guys to give us some privacy. My attention was now solely focused on my brother as he rubbed petulantly at his shoulder. I hadn't actually done damage, and we both knew that, but I made my point. He pouted down at me. "I—I don't know!" He looked over the top of my head at someone, his eyes narrowing. "He's just so—frickin' _smug,_ Jill!" He dropped his hand from his shoulder and squeezed his hand into a tight fist as he said it for emphasis. "I just gotta—" and proceeded to mime strangling Gally.

My lips were pursed, my eyebrows up as I watched my brother's lame attempt at trying to explain himself to me. My silence registered to him and he paused to look down at me. Apparently, the expression on my face said it all, and he sighed and sagged in exasperation. "Jill," He sighed, rubbing his face.

"Oh, don't do that," I growled, pointing at his hands. "You know I hate it when you do that! What are you gonna do, Jack? You gonna give a black eye to one of the top dogs of the Glade on our first night?"

"I wish," He scoffed wistfully, totally missing the sarcasm in my voice. And also missing my point. I threw my hands up in irritation, and he looked back down at me again. "Oh, come on, don't _ruin_ this for us!"

That was enough to clamp my mouth shut in surprise. I backed up and frowned at my twin. "What?" I squinted as I tried to make sense of his plan. "So now you're doing this for _us_?"

"Listen to me, Jill." He put both his hands on my shoulders and locked eyes with me, so I knew he meant what he was saying. "I'm so close. I'm so close to getting in, I can _get there—_ I know I can! They just have to invite me. That's all!"

My mind was a whirring, working double time to translate his nonsense-babble. "What the hell are you talkin' about, Jack?"

"I'm talking about—" He started, drawing the attention of the boys near us. He lowered his voice and tried again. "You _know_ I need to get out there."

And suddenly, it was all clear to me. "Oh, Jack…" I deflated as I stepped away from him in disappointment, bringing my hand up to pinch my nose. "I should've known," I murmured to myself. Jack was rambling on about how important it was that he prove himself to them, and I finally turned back around. "So that's what this is all about, then? You think painting yourself as a tough-guy is going to earn you a one way ticket out _there_?" My finger stabbed at a wall, where the loud groans of the shifting maze sung to the Glade in the night.

"Jill, listen to me," He pleaded; using that same phrase he always did when he thought he knew better than me. It fanned the flames, and my face grew hot with anger. "This is more important than you realize—"

"Oh, no. I can understand _perfectly_ ," I hissed at him, rearing up like a cat as he tried to reach out to calm me down. "You're so shucking _stupid_ , Jackson!"

He pointed at me excitedly, practically bobbing on his feet, "See! See, you're already using their lingo, Jill! Don't pretend you're not feeling it, too. Just let me do this, I _need_ to."

I'm pretty sure a vein in my forehead was about to pop. "I'll tell you what I'm _feeling_ Jack! I—I'm—" I broke off, taking in what my brother looked like in that moment. His eyes were sparkling with determination. His jaw was set, his shoulders back and feet planted firmly on the grass of the field. I knew then. I knew no matter what I said to him, no matter how I reasoned with him, he wouldn't stop until he made it out in that maze.

Conflicting feelings clashed in my heart. On the one hand, there's no one in this world I trusted and loved more than Jack. He's never done anything that he didn't think was the best for us. If going into the maze was the wrong choice, he wouldn't be trying it. For all that the Gladers have said about it, one thing remains true. It's our only way out. Maybe that's why he's doing this. Maybe he just wants us all to go home.

And the counter to that, of course, is that there's no _proof_ we'd go home when we left here. Who says there's even a home left to fight for? Who says there's any guarantee that there's an exit _at all_? In which case, Jack is risking his life for nothing. And furthermore, there's always the chance that Jack is just trying to fight his way to the highest tier there is in the Glade. That happens to be a Runner. Is he in it for the glory? The hard truth is: I couldn't be sure. So, with all of this feeding the angry monster that's growing inside me, I turned my back to him and strode right back into the crowd, my shoulder crashing with a few unsuspecting boys in my way.

Jack trailed tentatively after me. I knew he was worried what I might do. I marched straight up to the ring of sand, my eyes focused narrowly on Gally, who waited expectantly in the middle of it. His face shifted from an initial surprise to see me, as if he too had forgotten I was here, to a split second of shock at my nerve to step into the circle of sand, to an interesting shade of pink when I didn't stop until I was nose to nose with him.

All of the anger I harbored for Jack's stupid plan, all of the fear I felt that he might succeed, and the resentment I felt for just about everyone and everything in the Glade—I channeled all of it into the searing glare I focused on Gally's nervous little rat eyes. He did a good job of hiding his embarrassment, but I could see it. I could see _everything._

Silence fell over the crowd as they watched, waiting for one of us to speak. And honestly, it wasn't _Gally_ that I was mad at. I could care less about him. It was what his position in this _represented._ He's the one Jack wants to fight. He's the one that has to lose, so that Jack can impress the Glade. He's the one who's taunted him, who's antagonized him, and led us to this point. So that's why I'm here. But I don't want to fight him. I don't want to do _anything,_ so I'm just going to stand on the sidelines and do what I do best. Watch my brother, and silently form a plan.

Of course, none of the boys realized what I was doing. To them it looked like I was challenging Gally, or perhaps I was trying to send some kind of message. Gally's eyebrows were disturbingly calm as he looked down at me, and I clenched my jaw and smacked into his shoulder as hard as I could. He stumbled to the side—out of my way—and nearly lost his balance. I watched with no expression and a tight jaw as his face lit up in anger and humiliation.

Then, without waiting for a response, I focused on my only friend in the Glade—Newt—and dug my heels into the sand angrily as I stomped towards him.

Newt watched me with round eyes, his jaw slack and the jar of hooch empty and upside down in his grasp. I opened my mouth to comment about the lost alcohol, but before the words could come out, Newt's eyes flickered over my shoulder, and he stepped forward with his hand up to yell at me. Suddenly, a body launched itself at me and the calm night air briefly cooled my face before I was thrown harshly into the sand. I think Jack yelled my name, but I can't be sure.

I gasped, struggling to regain the wind that was knocked from my lungs, floundering like a fish out of water. The boys broke into excited exclamations, unsure how to feel about the newest greenie being thrown to the ground—or, maybe it was more about the fact that I'm the only _girl_.

Sand was sticking to my face, little grains swimming into my eye and feeling like tiny shards of glass. I blinked rapidly to try to clear them but that just made it worse. My time breathing into the sand felt as though it lasted hours, but really, it lasted seconds. I pushed myself slightly from the ground just long enough to see Gally, redfaced and panting.

Then, several things happened at once. _I_ knew Gally wouldn't get away with that, and apparently, so did he. When my brother charged him, he was already facing him with open arms. Just before they collided, Gally stepped to the side. It was a quick response, well-timed but predictable, and my brother saw it coming. As Jack blurred past Gally, his hand was already around his neck, and he didn't hesitate to smash him into the sand as hard as he could.

Someone grabbed my shoulder, and I flinched instinctually. It wasn't until I turned and saw Newt's face that I immediately calmed and latched onto his hand as he hauled me back out of the way, just as Gally kicked Jack's legs out from under him.

"Alright?" Newt asked, brushing at something on my back before giving it a quick clap. My eyes were focused on my brother and Gally, on the boys who hooted and hollered around them. I nodded without looking away, noting that boys were passing objects around as either Gally or Jack got the upper hand, throwing each other in the dirt. The object seemed to be who could get the other to fall down—and stay down. But the staying down was the trouble. Both of them seemed like pitbulls, angry and foaming at the mouths, ready to rip each other apart. Gally for reasons I couldn't seem to understand, Jack because of what Gally did to me. And because he had something to prove.

I looked away from the fight and started to brush the rest of the sand off me, starting with my face. "He's such an idiot! He'll never learn, I swear..." I grumbled, and Newt raised an eyebrow at me with a rueful smile.

"Well, that might be true. But I've got two meals on your brother there, so he very well better pull through!"

I snorted. "You don't have to worry about that. He's always been this way, stubborn as hell… he won't leave that ring without Gally on the ground behind him."

"How do you know?" Newt asked, not in an accusing or hostile way, just pure curiosity.

"I know my brother." I frowned.

"Yeah, but how? How can you remember that about him?"

"The same way I can remember that a bird flies and a pig shits." I said, giving Newt a funny look. "It's his nature. Once he puts his mind to something, nothing and no one can stop him."

Newt considered my words, looking back at Jack as he knocked Gally on his ass again, and the crowd roared excitedly. He turned back to the crowd and pumped his fists, getting them even more animated, and talking shit about Gally to get him riled up. I knew Jack had gotten well past putting Gally in his place for pushing me down. Now, he was just having some sort of power trip. Now, he's just trying to impress the Gladers.

Gally launched himself off the ground and into Jack, and they were at it again. "You say that like it's a bad thing." Newt observed, the tone in his voice carefully light. It occurred to me that he was testing my response, and I realized maybe Newt was more observant than I initially thought.

"It's his best strength and his greatest flaw." I said.

"And what's yours?" Newt asked, and I turned to look at him as I answered.

"I follow him." I simply replied, and Newt stared at me until I looked down at the ground and picked a blade of grass, twirling it between my fingers. My mind briefly flashed back to the conversation we had about whoever is controlling this whole thing, making sure we had just enough to survive, maintaining the Glade and all that was in it for some unknown goal. Leaving us to try and solve a problem we didn't even know there was a solution _for_.

Cheers erupted from the crowd, my brother's name being chanted, as Gally was left—beaten and alone in the middle of the ring. His eyes were dark, creepy even, and they definitely held some brewing anger as he watched Jack walk away. I watched as my brother was showered with the Glades' version of fanfare, bottles of hooch shoved in his hands, exclamations and alliances formed instantaneously. We hadn't even been here a day yet and already, he had a foot in the door to be a Runner. Already, he was blossoming. But as I looked back at Gally's brooding face, I wasn't so sure it was a good thing. I sighed and looked down at the blade pinched between my fingers. "I'll always follow him."

* * *

Later that night, Newt was helping me set up a hammock. "So who thought of the hammocks?" I asked, taking one end of the large blanket and pinching it.

Newt smirked, winding his end of rope around a skinny wooden pole. "Just how buggin' long ya think I been here, anyhow? I got no idea who thought of it. They been around since I arrived. Pretty good idea, though." His accent made idea come out as 'idear,' and that made me grin.

"If you're into that sort of thing," I mused, frowning down at the rope as I tied it around the pole. Newt snorted and finished up with the knot, his end tied up, and looked over at me.

"Into what, sleep?"

"No, dangling between two poles all night."

"Burn me—you do like to complain, don't ya? At least ya got somewhere to sleep!" His words were sharp, but I learned early on that Newt's bark was worse than his bite.

"I don't complain!" I dismissed as I eyed his end of the hammock. "Say, what's your job around here, Newt?"

"My job!" He barked. "Whatever the bloody hell I feel like, that's what." He growled defensively.

I smirked at his explanation. "Why are you so offended there, shank? You wouldn't be slackin' off, would you? Because that's breaking the rules, you know."

"What! I been showin' _your_ sorry arse around all day, in case you haven't noticed! Let me tell you, _there's_ a full-time job." He frowned out at the Glade and crossed his arms, watching some of the boys who were still out at the party. "Slackin'…" He grumbled.

I moved to his end of the hammock and gave it a strong tug, testing its strength. "I was just making sure your knots would hold up, that's all."

He turned around, eyes wide at my audacity. "Just what is it you're implying here, you little klunkhead? I'm not strong enough to fix up a bloody hammock?"

I feigned innocence, picking at the loose looking knot. "No, I never said that." I pursed my lips and gave it another tug.

"Listen, if I wanted you to fall on your arse all I have to do is go get Gally. He'll push you right down!" I'm not sure what effect he was hoping his words would have, but they really didn't insult either of us, only Gally, and I couldn't help but snort out a laugh.

"Now there's an idea! He's a Builder, right? Maybe he could tie this up _properly_ ," I joked, hoping to ruffle his feathers more.

But it backfired as Newt started to back up towards the Glade, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Oh yeah?" I struggled to muffle a laugh and tried to grab his shoulder, but he ducked out of my grasp and started to leave. "Want me to go get him? Alright, hold on then, GALLY—"

"No!" I shushed, stifling my furious giggles, rushing to get in front of him and push him roughly back into the Homestead. "Knock it off, you little shank!"

Newt was clucking away at his own antics, thinking himself hilarious, and I couldn't help but notice a few guys out at the Glade turn to look at us. Part of me worried that Gally really would come to see who called for him, but a bigger part of me doubted it.

The hammock he had procured for me was big, about the size of a large couch, and it easily fit both of us if we sat on it shortways instead of longways.

"For all your whining I think we did pretty good," Newt declared, patting the dark green fabric of the hammock. "But I'm sure I could still get Gally to come check it for you if you want—" He was cut off by me smacking the back of his head.

Newt snickered, shrinking away from me, and an amicable silence fell over us that neither of us tried to fill. We watched the boys outside as they joked and passed jars of hooch around. There seemed to be some sort of drinking contest going on between Alby and the Asian boy from earlier, and I was surprised to find that my brother was no where near it. I scoffed bitterly and wondered why he wasn't trying to win _this_ competition, too, when Newt cleared his throat.

I glanced over at him and he was running a thoughtful hand over his mouth, mulling over something before he spoke. "Where do you think you'll end up working?" He asked, measuredly.

I turned to look back outside, past the boys and up at the walls on the far end of the Glade.

"I don't know, really. To be totally honest with you, I have no talents that I can think of. At least… nothing practical."

Newt hummed to himself. "You wouldn't remember even if you did. That's why we usually have the greenies try out each job for one day, until something sticks."

"I'll probably end up gardening. That seems pretty straightforward."

"That's good work," Newt approved, nodding his head. "I can see that. But we might not be able to start there straight away. Might be best to get you somewhere you hate, so you can really appreciate the less… gritty jobs."

"Like Slicing?"

"Exactly. Though, to be fair, it's not all cutting up the little piggies," I winced at his casual use of harsh language, shuddering as I imagined having to do that, and he smirked at my reaction. "Yeah, you get to care for them before you slaughter them."

"Lovely," I dryly commented, and his smirk only grew.

"I definitely don't see you being a Bagger." He suddenly observed, and my eyebrows scrunched together.

"Can't say I'm sorry to hear that," I admitted, and he snorted. "Out of morbid curiosity, what exactly do they _do_?"

"I'm not so sure you want to know," He drawled, looking down his nose at me.

"Oh, come off it," I frowned. "Whatever it is, it's probably not as bad as what I'll imagine if you don't tell me."

He sighed and looked down at his hands. "Well, when someone dies, they're the ones who take the body." There was a pause as I absorbed this new information, and Newt couldn't help but laugh at the expression on my face. "Yeah, you're eatin' those words now, ain't ya?"

"But they do other things too, right? I mean, how often is it that someone dies?" And to my mind, I would say _very_ rarely.

But Newt didn't comment on that, leaving it a rhetorical question. "If they don't have that to do, they're kind of like the guards."

I shook my head and looked away, dismissing that job as an option. "You're right. Bagging isn't for me."

He hummed at me and began to swing his leg, which in turn gently swung the hammock. "I would say you might make for a decent Med-Jack, but we only have one of those."

"Is that like the resident doctor?" He nodded and I tried to think of how to take that assumption. "I can't decide if that's sexist or not…"

"Sexist?" His face scrunched and I looked at him with my eyebrows raised.

"Well, yeah! Just because I'm a chick, that means I should be a doctor?"

"Just because you're a chick, that means you should garden?"

We stared at each other for a minute, my lips pursed, until finally I said, "Touché." Another silence fell over us as we mulled over our thoughts, and finally I couldn't resist anymore. "What about a Runner?"

Newt's leg abruptly stopped swinging. He paused before sending me a disbelieving look. "Don't tell me you actually _want_ to go out there, Jill." It was the first time he said my name in conversation so casually, and his accent made it sound different than I was used to. "Please tell me you're not that _stupid_."

 _No, I'm not._ "I dunno, you've just made them sound so brave."

"Brave," He scoffed, looking back out to the Glade. "Yeah, they're something all right. They risk their lives every day for us. Every morning, they get up and throw themselves into a pointless mission! They run, all day, they never stop. They can never stop out there, because they have to keep looking—looking for _what?_ We don't even know, but they do it. And they have to make it back to the Glade by sun down, because if they don't they're as good as gone. And you don't even want to _know_ what happens if they run into a Griever."

I'd never heard Newt so passionate before. He seemed disgusted by them, but I knew that he respected them, too. It was obvious that he felt this on a deep level, and I wondered if everyone in the Glade felt this way. "They have the most important job out of any of us." He continued. "The most dangerous one, too. Are you telling me _that's_ what you want to do?"

I blinked several times, his words ricocheting around my mind. Around Jack, who was the one I was _truly_ asking for. Did I want this for him? Did I want him to risk his life for what was essentially _no good reason_ while simultaneously being the most important thing the Gladers can do?

"No," I choked out. "I don't want that. Any part of it. At all."

Newt watched me for a few more seconds, a frown still etched deeply in his face. I resisted the urge to squirm. "Good that." He finally said, turning back to the Glade and proceeding to swing his leg again. "Geez, why you gotta go and ask questions like that?" Gone was that brief glimpse of a more disturbed Newt. His lighthearted, obnoxious side was back. "Just about gave me a heart attack! Besides, you couldn't even if you wanted to. Runners have to be elected by the Keepers. It's this whole process…"

I smiled, though I didn't really feel it, and shook my head. "I had to ask."

He snorted and looked over at me. "What about your brother?"

I was careful not to react, watching Newt from the corner of my eye. "What about him?" I asked, making my voice light and casual—instead of how I truly felt. Suspicious, worried. Defensive.

"How do you think he'll waste time around here?" He flicked something into the grass, and I relaxed slightly as I realized he wasn't _exactly_ asking if Jack would try to be a Runner. He was asking about all the jobs, and that's nonspecific enough to calm me down.

I paused, and wondered if I should say something to him. After all, Jack wanted it really badly. Anyone with eyes could see that. But given just how well I know him, I know he would jump at this chance to tell Newt. _Especially_ given that I just learned he would have a lot of hoops to jump through before he could become a Runner. Asking Newt, who seemed to be almost second in command around here, would be as good as gold.

"I think he'd make a good Bricknick." I finally said. "He's always been good at fixing things."

Newt hummed thoughtfully. "Seems better at breaking them. He's a bit reckless, that brother of yours."

Admittedly, this assessment surprised me. Usually people only saw Jack as the golden child. I was forever comparing him to the sun, and a big part of that is the way people revere him. He didn't even have to try—they just _liked_ him. "You're right about that." I nodded. "But he's good with his hands, and he's smart too."

"If he's a Bricknick, he'll work closely with Gally." Newt observed.

I considered this. "…Yeah, that could be trouble."

"If by trouble, you mean what'll happen if you two slintheads don't slim it so I can get some dang _sleep,_ you're right!" Nagged a boy who was entering from the Glade, glaring at us as he walked past.

We both waited until he was gone to comment. I turned to Newt, with an insincere smile on my face, and said, "Lovely. Some really friendly shanks you guys got here."

Newt laughed, but started to scoot out of the hammock anyways. "He's right, though. It's getting late; the party's winding down. We'll be making an early day of it tomorrow—so you might as well try to get some sleep."

His movements sent the hammock swinging violently, and I struggled to remain inside of it, eyeing the knots suspiciously. "If this hammock is rigged, and I fall in the middle of the night, you'll be sorry!" I called after him, and he waved me off with a good-natured laugh.

* * *

 _ **Alright guys, I've received a few questions!**_

 _ **1) Who will Jill be paired with? I guess the simplest answer is**_ I don't know ** _. But, to be totally honest, she and Newt have really hit it off, so... time will tell! I've not really written her with any other characters yet, so we'll just have to see. I'm open to suggestions though!_**

 ** _2) Is this movie or book verse? I've always struggled with which one I like more, so, to that end... Both. I'll draw from both mediums, and hopefully whatever I produce will make some sort of sense!_**

 _ **Please, if you like this, leave a review! Those are the most inspirational. A happy author makes for a better story ;) BUT as always, you can follow/favorite if you'd simply like to keep following my updates. Thanks for giving it a chance, hope to hear from you soon...**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Alright, so I'm admittedly becoming discouraged by the lack of response over this story. You guys are still reading it but there's no way for me to tell if you're enjoying it, because you're not following or favoriting it, or even reviewing. I'm not trying to be whiney, but it's a bit off-putting. If you're a writer who posts here, you should know what I'm talking about. I do have a pretty good plot drawn up. I've spent a lot of time on it and I think you'll like what I have in store, but if I don't get a response, I'll probably lose the motivation. So keep that in mind if you want to see what's in store for the twins...**_

 _ **Another thing... I've changed the title/description of this little gem several times now XD But I think I've FINALLY settled on this one! The title seems to capture the spirit of their story quite poetically, and the description is more satisfactory for me now. So it's probably not going to change. Also, I've decided to put Jill with Newt, if you couldn't tell by the pairing in the description... :) I'm excited to write this, but you already know how I feel about the lack of response, so...**_

* * *

I'd been lying in my hammock for five hours straight. No matter what position I tried, sleep eluded me. My mind was racing about a trillion miles an hour, filled with questions and the most nightmarish scenarios I didn't even know my waking mind was capable of creating. It kept me from _wanting_ to fall asleep, but I was so tired I knew I would regret it all in the morning. Not that I had a choice… I couldn't drown out the sounds of the shifting walls, sounding like deep, shuddering explosions, or far away lightening strikes. And then there were all the boys around me—many of which were snoring quite loudly, might I add.

And as if that wasn't enough to keep me awake, the shrill, chill inducing, ear-piercing shrieks were. The first time I heard it I actually fell from my hammock, landing on my wrist in a way that made it pop and caused fiery pain to shoot up my arm.

I gasped in pain, tears pooling in my eyes, and I knew that would be it for sleep. My heart was racing in my chest. I could hear my blood whirling in my ears, and my wrist began a steady throbbing. Tightening my hand into a fist made it worse, and I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my forehead tightly into the dirt. Begging myself not to cry. Wishing I was anywhere but here. Wishing I was deaf, just so I could have some peace and quiet.

"Hey! _"_ A nearby voice scream-whispered, startling me into silence. "Whoever that is: _pipe._ The shuck. _Down."_ I bit my lip and drew in a trembling breath, crawling back into my hammock and taking care not to swing too much so it didn't creak too loudly.

Just as I settled down, another shriek tore through the Glade. It sounded like it was coming from just outside the walls, and that scared me even more. All night, I wondered where Jack was, but I didn't dare go searching for him—lest I wake a Glader and lose even more brownie points with them. Besides, it was all I could do not to sob.

I spent the night breathing through my mouth and swiping my salty cheeks dry, pretending not to hear the horrifying screeches in the maze, and cradling my wrist to my chest. That was the first time in my life I genuinely wished I were dead.

When the dawn broke and a few boys rolled out of their hammocks, I slid my shoes on and kept my head down as I shuffled out of the Homestead. No one tried to talk to me as I walked, unsure of exactly what my destination was, but needing to move.

A yawn tore at my mouth, and I covered it with my good hand as I took in my new home. It was still the early morning, so the shadows that the wall cast were long and consuming. Only the box, situated exactly in the middle of the Glade, had any real sunshine. A small part of me wanted to go curl up and try to sleep on the warming metal, but I knew that was weird, so I kept moving.

I headed straight down from the Homestead, all the way to the very border of the woods, but I stopped there. I had no desire to go poking around for graves; I had suffered from enough nightmares last night, real or imagined.

The air was cool and pleasant, and did a lot to soothe my nerves. Not a lot of the boys were out. The field was calm. I could see smoke rising from the back of the Homestead, making me wonder if that's where I could find breakfast, and even as I thought it my stomach growled. But I was in no mood to socialize, so I walked a little farther.

There were birds chirping, and insects were contentedly buzzing. Dew glistened on the grass, and as the sun rose higher, it lit the field and cast an almost ethereal glow over the Glade. I quickly decided that this would be my favorite part of the day. You could almost forget that this was fake; that we were prisoners to some unknown entity.

Almost.

Surprised at how far I had walked, I noticed that I had actually ventured to only a few steps away from one of the walls. All of my terror and anxiousness I felt in the shadows last night was gone. It seemed silly now, as nightmares always do—except that it wasn't a dream. It was real. And I had no promise that the shadows weren't _actually_ staring back at me. Who's to say they aren't watching us? But like I said, all of that is gone now. As it is, it's hard to believe the Glade was ever like that at all. The morning is a sharp contrast to the night here, I guess. Home, sweet home.

Something about the wall caught my eye. I frowned, noticing that it looked like there were scratches in it. I squinted, and upon further inspection I realized they were actually names. I quickly closed the distance between myself and the wall, my mouth hanging open in awe as I looked at tens upon hundreds of them. I actually had to tilt my head back to see them all, they went so high up.

 _Rob, Joe, Alfred, Clint, Wes, Gally, Minho, Doug, Nick, George, Adam, Dan, Bart, Scott, Jim, Lee, Eric, Dimitri, Patrick, Zack, Henry, Aidan, Winston, Peter…_ To name a few. And then there were stranger ones, like Frypan. Some of them were underlined. Others, crossed out. When I saw one that said Jack, I slowly reached up to touch it. The deep groves that made the letters were tan, which made me think maybe these walls are older than I originally thought, and my fingers came away with a white residue.

I wiped the powder onto my shirt, still staring up at the names and wondering how they got there, and if maybe I'd met most of these people, or at least seen their faces.

"There you are," A familiar accent lilted behind me. I jumped, not having heard a voice all night. I was also under the impression that I was alone.

"Cripes, Newt," I scolded, eliciting a wry grin from him. "Make some noise when you walk, would ya? At least whistle or somethin'… Or else I'll have to tie a bell around your neck…"

"My, and a good morning to you, too! You're so sweet in the morning." He stopped beside me and crossed his arms, looking up at the wall. "Ah. I see you've found the wall."

"Well, it did catch my attention, yes," I smartly admitted, turning to look up at it with him. "Who put those there?"

"No one knows." He said without missing a beat, causing me to jerk my head around and look at him in shock. A shit-eating grin cracked his face, and I huffed as he snickered, reaching out to smack his shoulder.

"Shut up." I pouted, biting back my own amusement. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of laughing.

"I reckon it was Wes. And Doug, and Nick, and—oh, there's Minho." He began to point them out as he listed them. "Scott, Jim, Lee, Rob, Patrick—yeah, he's a git, that one. Never leave a plate of food near him unattended."

"Alright, alright." I paused, reaching forward to touch the one that said George, crossed out. "Is George—"

"Dead? Presumably." Newt reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "Look, breakfast is starting, we should—"

"Has my brother been here?" I interrupted, pointing at the one that said Jack.

Newt's eyebrows raised and he let out a sharp sigh, flapping a helpless hand. "I dunno?" He impatiently breathed, shaking his head. "It's possible."

"What's your problem?" I frowned, and he looked away, crossing his arms.

"It's nothing. Just… kinda—bloody _brings me down_ , ya know? Those aren't just names on a wall to me! They're _people_. Gladers, that I know." He paused, waving his hand again. "Knew."

 _Oh._ He might as well have socked me straight in the stomach. I deflated, angry with myself for being so insensitive. "Newt, I… Geez, I'm such a little klunk-faced-slinthead…"

Newt smiled despite himself, his anger gone, just like that. He was so easygoing, so ready to forgive. Even then, it knocked me off my feet. I'd never met someone like him. "No." He shook his head. "You're just a greenbean." I sighed again, still feeling guilty. He held his hand out to me. "Come on. I'm hungry, we've done enough exploring this morning."

Food sounded admittedly good, and he didn't have to ask again. When I was close enough, he threw his arm over my shoulder and walked next to me, steering us back up to the Homestead. "The greenest bean," He continued from earlier, and I shoved weakly at his side, making him laugh.

"Well, then you're… the most klunky, shankiest bloody slacker that I ever saw!" I lamely tried, and Newt scrunched his face, unsure of how to react.

"Ooo," He said flatly, stepping over a rather large stone in the field. "That was a good one. You bloody got me."

I paused, frowning to myself as I tried to think of a better insult. "Yeah… I'll work on it."

"Please don't." He teased as we approached the now busy courtyard. "Oi, Frypan!" Newt called, letting his arm fall from my shoulders so he could wave. A slightly frizzed, very hairy, dark complected boy looked up from his spot where he was eating, gathered around a table with other Gladers. "What's for breakfast?"

"My famous casserole!" He boasted, and an Asian boy behind him rapidly shook his head with wide eyes at us, silently warning us not to touch the food.

"Fantastic!" Newt threw up two thumbs, and Frypan turned back around, making the Asian boy quickly don a thousand watt smile and nod enthusiastically at him. Newt hurriedly steered me away from a table of what _might've_ been casserole, but looked closer to slop. It made me wonder who fed the pigs. "Right," He murmured quietly. "Hope ya like apples!"

Newt waved at several boys cheerily, though none of them bothered to greet me. I noticed as we made our way towards a ramp that Jack was up and about. He was currently making his way towards the table of casserole, and my mind flashed back to the Asian that seemed to insist it wasn't worth trying. That, and the fact that Newt seemed pretty intent on finding an alternative breakfast, made my obligation as a twin still my feet.

Newt paused, looking down at me questioningly.

"I—There's something I need to do." I awkwardly explained, hooking my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of Jack.

Newt's brown eyes curiously scanned the court until he spotted him. A small smile formed on his lips and he nodded at me. "Good, that. Go take one for the team. I'll find you," and gently nudged my shoulder in my brother's direction.

I turned towards Jack and watched as he took a plate, seeming completely at ease and at home as he began to cut himself a piece of casserole. Chewing my lip uneasily, I moved through the crowd in the courtyard a lot more awkwardly now.

The respect the Gladers held for Newt was evident, contested only by the way they felt about Alby. The Gladers would greet him happily, patting his back and teasing him, and he responded in kind. But they parted the crowd for me for a very different reason.

They stood off from me, oftentimes throwing me strange and uncomfortable looks. I wished I could write it off as being the 'greenbean', as it were, but then how would I explain Jack? No, it wasn't my green status. It was my distinctly female status. For some reason, it really seemed to freak these guys out.

They actually went out of their way to avoid me at all costs. It was only proven as I approached Jack, his plate full of casserole, and the Glader he was talking to spotted me over my brother's shoulder. The smile fell from his face and he hurriedly gathered his plate, calling a quick parting to Jack before darting away, leaving my brother confused but not offended.

This general sentiment seemed to be shared by everyone who had come to the table, actually. They quickly got what they needed and left, busying themselves with talking or getting food so that I wouldn't try to talk to them.

I tried not to let it bother me. It would change, I'm sure, as time went on and they adjusted to the idea of a girl in the Glade.

"Hey," I greeted, looking down at Jack's plate of casserole. I see now why Newt and the Asian were so adamant about steering clear of it, and couldn't stop myself from wrinkling my nose at the yellow and brown flecks that slid over each other, sinking towards the white plate. Steam wafted up to Jack and the smell tickled my nose, smelling strongly of onions and something more… sour. I resisted the urge to cover my nose and focused on Jack's face.

"Jill!" He beamed, looking over me curiously. "Hey, what'd you do to your wrist?"

A surprised laugh tore from my throat as I looked down at my swelling limb. "Oh, you know… The usual." It was an odd response to make, being that there _was_ no 'usual'. I never injured myself, and certainly not my wrist, and if I did I wouldn't hide it from Jack. Partly because I couldn't even if I wanted to— _clearly_ —but mostly because he would've been there when it happened.

"You arm wrestled again." He teased, playing along as if that was the only explanation. I nodded with him and we both fought not to smile. "You really need to stop that. Nasty business, as I hear it—"

" _Someone_ had to put Alby in his place." I shrugged dramatically, like it was a noble task and I was trying to be humble about it.

"Lesson learned." Jack wagged his finger at me and I smiled at him. An awkward silence fell over us as we both tried to think of what to say... The casserole seemed unimportant now. What I really wanted to say was… Well, I don't know. I just wanted to spend time with my brother, hoping that maybe he might brighten my spirits after the night I had. And I wanted to tell him about my night, and have him make light of it, and I wanted to ask him about the wall. Had he seen it? Had he seen the names, learned what they meant? Had he put his own name up, etching his name in stone forever, next to the Gladers? I don't know when he would've found the time, but it wouldn't surprise me. He already belongs here. Might as well make it official.

"Well, I'm supposed to go join Minho for breakfast." Jack said, tugging his chin in the direction behind me. It was the opposite direction from where Newt had gone. I tried to mask it, but I knew it was useless. Jack saw the disappointment weigh me down as I tried to lift my shoulders and my chin, nodding casually.

"Oh," My voice was a little too light. My throat was tight. _Please don't._ "Okay then. I'll… I'll see you later?"

"Good that," He smiled, surprising me by backing away. It was out of character. It wasn't what I expected. I expected not to have to _tell him_ that I needed him. I expected him to know that, and to need me, too. He waved at me and turned his back on me, striding towards the table Frypan had been at—and I watched the boys greet him cheerily. And I saw then that he didn't. He didn't _need_ me.

I looked at my feet and turned slightly so it wouldn't look like I was staring after him pathetically. So that if he turned around, he wouldn't see the way my eyes stung. So he couldn't see how much I needed him right now, how much it hurt to be brushed off, and how very much this _isn't okay_. Or maybe, I didn't want him to see how very much _I_ wasn't okay. Not as he was doing so well.

Something punched my gut, my breath whooshing from me, and I stumbled back and instinctively grabbed whatever hit me.

"There ya go, greenie," A cocky voice sneered. I blinked dumbly up at Gally, my mouth hanging open. It sounded so different coming from his mouth when he called me greenie. From him, it sounded like an insult. From Newt it was a… well, a nickname.

Looking down at my hands, I realized I was holding a plate. A hunk of casserole was plopped in the middle, quite a small serving, and the 'gravy' slid over the sides and onto my fingers. Some of it had gotten on my shirt, too, and I shook my head at Gally. "No, I'm not hungry." I quickly tried to pass it back in his hands, and he scoffed loudly, dodging me.

"Hungry? What the shuck're you on about?" He cruelly squinted at me for a moment, as if he was actually mulling over my words, and then raised his eyebrows. "Wait a minute… you don't think… you don't think I _got you a plate_ , do you?"

The Gladers around him snickered and my face heated up. I clenched my jaw and opened my mouth, but he continued before I had the chance. "No, newbie. Let me explain to you how this works—I give you my dirty plate," He lightly smacked one of my hands that held the plate, causing more of the gravy to spill on me. "And _you_ clean it. See? Easy. Even a greenie like you should understand that."

Confused, and a little angry, I opened my mouth to refute him again. "I always thought you'd make a good Slopper." He boasted, crossing his arms smugly at me. "From the second you popped out of the box with your bigheaded older brother."

I seethed, my grip tightening on my plate. He didn't know me! He didn't know a _thing_ about me—"He's my _twin_ ," But I might as well have thanked him for the plate or not said anything at all, for all the good it did. Gally was laughing pretty hard at his own joke, the Gladers next to him were smacking his back.

One of the brave souls next to him stepped forward and piled another plate in my hands. "Thanks, greenie," He winked. Anger, hot and twisted, boiled in my chest, boiled under my cheeks and in my neck. I wanted to smash the plate over Gally's head. I wanted to throw the stupid freaking casserole at their smug little faces, and I was about to do just that when a hand touched my back.

I almost elbowed whoever dared touch me right now, until I realized it was Newt. His face was scrunched unhappily as he looked between the plates in my hands, the expression on my face, and the boys gathered around me. "Gally," His jaw clenched as he looked at the older boy and tilted his head. "Don't you have some hay to rake or a hole to dig?"

Gally's fat face burnt cherry red, and the Gladers around him oohed as if that was the best insult they'd ever heard. "Get him, Newt!"

"I was just telling your little she-bean here to get to work." He ruthlessly smirked down at me. "Everyone does their part, right?"

"That's right, shank! So go do your bloody part," Newt's voice was more venomous than I'd yet to hear. The anger was still present, just under my skin, but I was inexplicably thankful for Newt. He returned Gally's sneer as the older boy finally retreated, still gathered by who must be other Builders as they stalked over a hill.

"Mark my words, greenie!" Gally hollered, apparently determined to have the last word. "Once a Slopper, always a Slopper."

The warmth in my cheeks festered as I watched them until I couldn't see them anymore, while Newt took the plates from my hands. A frown was still marring his face. "What a buncha rotting klunks," He glowered, and as he strode away I noticed something strange about the way he walked.

At first I thought I had imagined it. But as I watched him, I realized that it was slight, but it was there. A hitch in his step.

I wondered whether I should bring it up.

"Come on, greenie." He called to me, his voice considerably kinder than Gally's when he said the word. "You're already falling behind! The day's barely started." I felt my anger fading, and decided that his limp was his own business. He didn't ask about my brother, and he just went out of his way to stand up for me when no one else would. As far as I was concerned, he was the most capable Glader _here_. To hell with the rest of them!

Looking down at the sticky gravy on my hands, I quickly sprang to catch up to Newt and swiped a cloth on a nearby table to wipe my hands clean. Newt threw the plates onto the same table and hopped up to perch on the top.

He pulled a dark brown rucksack I hadn't noticed onto his lap, digging through it as he babbled on about something. It took me a moment to catch up, as he'd been talking since I'd caught up. "—the slinthead was in my bed! _My_ bed. So I had to quickly remedy that, of course. Those Runners got some kind'er nerve, greenie. Anyways, turns out he was sick, so I had to pass the information along to Alby and help the poor shank out. Then I realized I'd forgotten the bloody apples, so I had to double back to the beds, and by the time I got 'round to finding you, Gally had weaseled his way over."

Finally, I realized this was a very longwinded apology, and I frowned as I took the offered apple from his hand. The deep red waxy peel felt smooth and warm under my palm, and my mouth pinched uncomfortably. "Newt," I started. "You better not be apologizing for that ferret."

He smirked at my description of Gally, shrugging a shoulder. "No one should have to deal with that jerk."

I ran my fingertips over the apple and nodded. "True… why does he have it out for me and my brother, anyways?"

Newt's head tilted back and he looked up at the sky as he mulled my words over. "Gally is… well, he's a dong." I smirked and he continued. "The only Gladers that can stand him are Builders, and that's because he's not such a prat to them. But he's pretty conceited, and he's clashed with Alby and myself a few times in the past. I think he thinks he should be leading us, really." I shuddered at the thought and Newt nodded at me, amusement tickling his mouth. "He's mean to everyone. So, for you, I think he's just treating you like he would any greenbean." To say this came as a shock was an understatement. "If it's any worse it's only because of your brother."

I nodded in understanding. "What about my brother?"

"Hmm… I'd chalk that up to good old fashioned rivalry," Newt took a healthy bite of his apple, his lips smacking as he continued. "If you haven't noticed, your brother seems to be stealing the show."

Had he said that to me earlier, I might've smiled. But since my last encounter with Jack still stung I was only able to muster a sigh. A fact which did not seem to escape Newt's attention. He watched me thoughtfully as I wordlessly took a bite out of my apple.

I looked back over to the table where Frypan had been, but he was gone, and in his place was Jack. Across from him was the same Asian, but he seemed about ready to leave. Jack's shoulders shook with what I assume to be laughter, and he threw his head back. The boys around him smiled, and the Asian shook his head before standing from the table. He pointed at my twin and told him something that sent another wave of laughs over the table, and I chewed thoughtfully at my lip.

"What's his name?" I asked suddenly, looking back up at Newt as he chomped on his apple.

"Ah," He said, following my finger where I pointed at boy who was now walking away from the table and in the direction of a new group of Gladers. "That would be Minho. He's the Keeper of the Runners."

"Keeper?" I frowned, and Newt nodded.

"He's their leader. Ultimately, he decides who's allowed to join them, and who's not. There are Keepers for each job. They have to be good judges of character, and know what qualities each of their jobs need. They have total veto power for who can and cannot work for them. Some Keepers turn Gladers away a lot… Others might never say no. Now Minho? He's a tough cookie." Newt wagged a finger at him. "That guy would rather see any newbie raking klunk for the rest of their life than putting their neck out in the maze."

I hummed thoughtfully, looking back at Jack. I understood what he was doing now. He was working his way up, befriending the Keepers so that he might get a better vote. Then I noticed that Alby was sitting with him, and they were smiling and seemed to be having the time of their lives.

…Well, I might be exaggerating there a bit. Alby was smiling, and I couldn't see Jack's face, but I imagined he was, too.

Actually, if I'm honest whatever they were talking about seemed to be serious. Alby leaned in close to say something, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention. His eyes landed on me and he hesitated, glancing back to Jack and murmuring something, his head dipping in my direction.

Jack turned to look for me. When he finally spotted me, Jack's mouth flattened into a slim line, his eyes strangely tight. It was an expression that didn't seem to belong on his face, and I frowned questioningly at him. But he must not have noticed it, because he turned back to Alby and shook his head. Alby hesitated, looking back at me briefly before finally extending his hand to Jack. My brother clapped his hand against Alby's; a very brotherly way of shaking hands, and a gesture that I was familiar with. They'd made a deal, and Jack was happy about that deal.

I could feel myself growing suspicious. I tried not to think about it, biting into my apple and inspecting my wrist.

"Alright then, Greenie. We're already running a bit late. You ready to stick some bloody piggies?" Newt asked, and I looked up at him, my eyes wary. He threw his head back and laughed outrightly at my expression, and I had to bite back a smirk of my own. "Come on," He grabbed my wrist and tugged me up from the table.

Unfortunately, it was the wrist I'd injured last night. I couldn't muffle the cry of pain that left my lips, and Newt immediately dropped my hand, his eyes wide. "Geez, greenie. If _that_ hurt you, you'll have a hell of a time working in the Glade!"

I couldn't bring myself to be annoyed with him, smirking in amusement despite myself. "It's not that." I glanced around the Glade, where most of the boys had cleared to go to their jobs for the day. My eyes lingered on Jack, who was now gathered near a crowd of boys that began to take shovels one by one. Alby said something to him and clapped his back, and I turned back to Newt. "I just messed it up last night, that's all." Newt's face melted in exasperation, and I quickly shook my head. "It's fine, honestly! I'll be all right, no big deal. We should get to work, right? Piggies won't butcher themselves…"

"You're a bit of a pain, aren't you?" Newt smirked at me, taking me by the shoulder and steering me towards the ramp to the Homestead. I knew the Bloodhouse was in the other direction, so I dug my heels into the ground and made Newt stop as well. His grip tightened and he actually began to drag me. "No, greenie! _This_ way. C'mon, Clint should take a look to make sure you ain't gone and broke it."

"If it was broken, I wouldn't be able to move it," I reasoned, and couldn't help my next question. "…Who's Clint?"

"The Med-Jack." Newt said as he backed up to push me from behind. "Come on. It'll be quick, the piggies can wait."

I sighed and let him drag me up the ramp, secretly glad to have the delay. Just before he opened the door, I reached out and grabbed his hand. He froze, and I was just as surprised by my actions as he was, while he raised an eyebrow at down at me. "I… just." I dropped his hand and toed the ramp. "You know how great you are, right?"

Newt straightened up and averted his gaze, his cheeks heating furiously. "What?" He managed, jerking the door open. "Get in there, greenie!" I struggled to bite back my laughter at how embarrassed my compliment made him, as he pushed me quickly inside. "Think I'd better have him check your head, too." He muttered, and I didn't suppress my laughter this time.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Yowza! You guys really rose to the occasion :) I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the reviews, favorites, and follows! I see now that you're as into the story as I had hoped. I have so much planned... Actually, this chapter wasn't planned, but I thought of it as I was writing and realized how perfectly it will fit into the other plot twists. Well, go on! Read!**_

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"You want me to _what?_ " I squeaked, my eyes as wide as the wheel of the barrel that Newt currently steered.

"Come on, greenie. It'll be easy! Look, all the hard work's been done," He pointed down at the carcass of the pig that was lying in the barrel. "You didn't even have to watch it die."

My mouth popped open and closed several times as I tried to express the emotions flitting through me, but the words just wouldn't come. Disgust, fear, sadness, revulsion, vulnerability, _disgust._

"Absolutely _not_." I hissed, unable to look at the protruding ear of the pig for too long. It was the only part visible to me, and Newt wheeled it closer to me so he could talk to me easier.

You see, we were at a bit of an impasse, if you couldn't tell. I was standing in the pin of the goats, minding my own business—becoming acquainted with Charlie, who hitched a ride in the box with my brother and me. I had taken to calling it Jack in the Box, a clever reference to the toy that winds up and makes a clown pop out. I was pretty proud of that joke, and the goats seemed to enjoy it well enough, but when they caught wind of the barrel, they dashed off so fast they almost knocked me over. It alarmed me, to say the least. I'm beginning to share their sentiment.

"Greenie." Newt's voice was low, like he was speaking with a child who refused to take their bath, and _not_ trying to convince me to help him butcher that pig. "You've got to do your part."

"First of all, I am," I gestured behind me to the skittish goats. "Can't I just feed the livestock?"

"Well, that's not going to take all day, is it?" He raised an eyebrow at me and I crossed my arms.

"Listen to me, Newt." I leaned forward to emphasize my point, saying each word slowly. "Not. In. A million. Years." His eye twitched, and I leaned back, my nose in the air. "Throw me in the pit if you have to, but that pig will not be cut open by my hand."

"Why the shuck _not_?" Newt all but whined, going so far as to bounce the barrel in his hand petulantly. "He's already been drained! There won't be blood, he's already been washed, he's all ready to be hung up, really all you're doing is—"

"No!" I interrupted, drawing a few curious stares from far-off Gladers. "Forget about it. Why does it matter any way, it's safe to say that I won't ever be a Slicer! I can barely look at—oh my god, are they always that hairy?" I frowned, leaning forward to get a better peek at the surprisingly furry ear of the hog. Its hair was sparse, but seemed course and rough in texture. Somehow, that made it worse.

Newt stared at me strangely. "…Have you ever even seen a pig before?"

I raised a wry eyebrow at him. "I dunno. I can't remember." And it was true. In spite of my strange aptitude for remembering absolutely useless bits of information, when it came to barn animals I was pretty helpless. It seems that whatever my life consisted of before the Glade, it didn't heavily involve barn animals.

This seemed to properly reprimand him, and he uncomfortably straightened. "Sometimes I forget how new you are." He muttered, looking down at the pig for a moment" "… _Fine_." He sighed, seeming to use up every ounce of resolve he had to grind the word out.

I smiled happily and rocked on my heels, eagerly awaiting further instruction. Newt glanced over his shoulder and seemed at a loss with what to do with the pig, before finally sighing again and turning back to me.

"I'll go pass Henry off to Winston." He muttered something else under his breath, but I couldn't quite catch it.

"What was that?" I teasingly called, and he gestured vulgarly at me as he steered the pig back towards the front of the Bloodhouse. I looked down at Charlie, who had apparently decided it was safe to rejoin me at the edge of the pin. He nipped curiously at my shoes, and I smirked down at him. "He'll get over it," I reached down and patted the top of the black and white goat, trying not to think too hard about how much he stank.

I readjusted the handle of the bucket draped over my forearm, gently nudging Charlie out of the trough I stood over so I could dump more food in. He bleated happily and eagerly shoved the bucket out of his way so he could get to the small pellets, and I shoved back because he was making a mess.

The bandage on my wrist prevented me from using that hand too much, but I still used it to push Charlie's head back—which was more difficult than I thought it would be. "Quiet down," I scolded, eyeing the goats on the other end of the pin. "Do you _want_ them to come over here?" He bleated noisily again, clearly not catching a word I said. "You'll have to share! And it'll make a bigger mess—ugh, _cut it out_ —" Charlie actually hopped up on the trough, his front legs buried deep in the feed so he could stick his snout in and hog it all.

"Fattie," I growled, gently nudging his swollen belly as I quickly backed away from the trough. It didn't take long for the other goats to figure out what was going on, and they seemed a bit miffed to not have realized it sooner. A bit of a fight ensued between Charlie and another white and brown goat, both trying to stake a claim over the entire trough.

I snorted condescendingly and a perky little brown goat followed me as I trudged back to the food, sticking the empty bucket down into the feed so it's easy to locate for the next meal. I closed up the feed and lugged it off of the ground, my wrist crying in protest because it was a much heavier load than I anticipated. The little goat let out a haughty sound of discontent as I lifted it out of their reach, shoving it far back on a table.

"Come on then," Newt called from the gate of the pin. He held a shovel and waggled a pair of tall rubber boots at me. "New job!"

What job in a barn requires tall rubber boots and a shovel? Somehow, I knew I didn't want to find out. I stepped over the tiny goat that still nipped peevishly at my toes for not giving it more food.

"They didn't take the news well, I see." I smartly commented, stopping at the fence to prop my elbows up and tilt my head curiously at the blonde boy. The smile on his cheeks produced two dimples, and a glint in his brown eyes that seemed particularly vengeful. It didn't sit well with me. "Oh, klunk," I muttered. "They _really_ didn't take the news well, did they?"

"I tried to tell you." Newt shook his head and limped over to the gate of the pin, popping it open and flapping his hand to motion me out. I had barely stepped out before he quickly shut it—ever mindful of the rambunctious goats inside. It would probably be a nightmare to try and catch one if it got loose, so his caution was understandable. "But you and your girly reservations have really landed you ankle deep." His arm swung around and the boots thudded against my torso roughly, and he looked up to meet my gaze meaningfully. "And I do mean that literally, greenie. You've got cleaning duty."

If I were a lesser person, I would snicker at that particular phrase of words. It didn't take a genius to decipher what he meant. I had to shovel the animals' shit. _Lovely_.

"Well," I said, struggling not to wrinkle my nose and make too much of a fuss about my predicament. "Let's get to work, shall we? The sooner we—"

"Oh no," Newt smirked. "Not we. _You_ ; you've got cleaning duty." I found that any retort, or intelligent response had been sucked from my mind. I gawked at him as he continued. "I've got to go to a meeting."

"A—" I started, outrage and anxiousness bubbling up. "A _meeting_? What—What could you possibly have to discuss?"

He sent me a dry look, and I knew he was right. They probably have _plenty_ to discuss. Not that I would admit that at the moment, I didn't want to be shoveling klunk alone in the barn!

"If you must know, you and your brother." He rested the shovel against the fence of the pin, crossing his arms and looking over my shoulder, in the direction of the Homestead. "But that's all I can tell you."

 _Me and my brother?..._ What would they talk about? Why did they need a private meeting to discuss it? Why can't he tell me more? Where's my brother? Does he know more than I do _? No, no, don't be ridiculous, they wouldn't tell him any more than me. He's just as new as I am._

Apparently, my questions flashed across my face as I thought them, and the Newt I had come to befriend was back. He had been annoyed with me, so he treated me a bit differently this morning—especially after my comment just before he took me to the Med-Jack—but he saw the turmoil in my eyes and reached out to grip my shoulder comfortingly.

"I'll tell you when I know more." He glanced over his shoulder and stepped closer to me, lowering his voice. "Truth is, I don't know what the meeting is about, really. All Alby said was that we were having a meeting to talk about the greenies, and to keep you busy."

I threw a distasteful glance to the shovels before focusing back on his face. "Did you have to pick _that_ particular task?"

A smirk tugged at his lips and mischief danced in his eyes. "No, but you wouldn't butcher the damn piggy."

"You were going to make me do _that_ on my own, too?!" I couldn't help but gape at him, and he chuckled, giving my shoulder a light squeeze.

"If it helps, I knew you wouldn't do it."

"I don't understand you." I tried to muster a glare, but I found that it just wasn't in me. Newt let go of my shoulder and stepped away.

"Perfect, then, my plan is coming together beautifully." He winked at me and I shook my head at his antics. "Only joking of course. I've got to go—duty calls," I didn't bite back an immature snicker at the pun this time, and he pretended not to notice as he waved a hand over his shoulder.

"You're doing that on purpose, right?" I called after him. He ignored me as he strode away, a slight hiccup in his otherwise smooth gait. "Cheeky bugger," I muttered, looking down at the boots and shovel with a heavy sigh.

The small brown goat had his nose pressed against the pickets of the fence, and he suddenly bleated at me. "What are you looking at?" I sneered, and he huffed at me. "Sassy little thing."

The boots were heavy and reeked a bitter, rotten smell that wafted towards my nose. I could only pray the insides were relatively clean. Making my way over to a nearby stool, I plopped down and began unlacing my boots.

My eyes drifted towards the Homestead, where Newt and a few other Gladers gathered. He made a good show of not caring what I did one way or the other, but I knew I had wormed my way under his skin—same as he had for me. When there was work to be done, he put on this façade of being annoyed with me, but he would still smirk at my jokes and he would still go out of his way to help me. It became apparent that he treated me differently than most Gladers when we went to the Med-Jack.

Oh, don't get me wrong—he was still just as sarcastic and feisty with me as he was with the others. It's just that he seemed… I don't know. I don't know what I'm trying to say. Maybe I'm reading into it too much. Probably, I am. I just miss Jack, that's all, and I'm grasping at what I can to prove I don't need him.

I just want to prove that I'm not completely dependent on my brother; that I can form new friendships and find my place without him, and for now it seems my place is tied closely with Newt. And I'm very okay with that.

I jerked my shoes off and slid them under the stool, plopping the heavy rubber boots in front of me.

Newt's my friend. He's a good friend, the best one I can remember having. He stands up for me, he looks out for me, he helps me when I've hurt myself—I glanced down at the bandage on my wrist and smirked at the scolding he gave me for being clumsy. He threatened to give me a month's worth of Slopper chores the next time I slowed us down by injuring myself, but even as he said it he was carefully wrapping my wrist with medical tape.

I had even tested him by hissing in pain at one point, and he immediately froze and fell over himself apologizing—until I broke into mischievous laughter. Then he dropped my wrist altogether and told me to finish it myself, his cheeks dusting pink.

That was fun.

I sighed and grabbed the shovel, making my way towards the front of the Bloodhouse. A boy with short black hair and a knobby nose was currently sitting outside.

"I was wondering if you were gonna show," He grunted without looking at me, sliding off the fence and turning to stride into the barn. I looked around to make sure he was talking to me, because he hadn't ever actually looked at me, and he didn't even bother to tell me his name. There was no one else around, though, so it had to be his lack of manners confusing me.

He spoke in rapid, short sentences, and there was so much slang thrown in that I struggled to decipher what I could catch.

"Fertilizer goes there. Don't get too much hay in it. Bad for the seeds, and I don't feel like having Zart chew me out for sloppy work. Get as much as you can. What you can't get, try to keep close to the back. Clear the troughs. Clear here, and there, and don't forget to cover it all when you're done." I blinked dumbly at him and he paused to look at me. "Got it?" I opened my mouth, finger up to tell him to wait, but he merely clapped my shoulder and turned on his heel, leaving without another word.

"What?" I asked the empty stall, flies buzzing around the manure, and tried to piece together his hasty instruction.

Not for the last time, I wished Newt hadn't had a stupid meeting to go to. I tried not to think too much about what I was doing as I moved the manure around and loaded it into the barrels.

About an hour into it, my palms were stinging from the work. I don't do heavy lifting. I never shovel. I took me about ten minutes to get some form of a technique down. My work was shaky, sloppy at best. If anyone asked I would blame it on my wrist—which was numb with pain, a sign I didn't think boded well, but I pushed through it. The manure looked like it should be easy to move, but it fought the shovel, and I found that I dropped about sixty percent of what I was able to pick up, and I had to keep going back to pick up what I lost along the way.

There might've been a more efficient way of doing things, but if there was, no one bothered to tell me. A couple Gladers walked by the barrels outside, but no one stopped to help me. I sent a longing glance down to the Homestead, but Newt had disappeared inside a long time ago.

Sighing, I paused and swiped at the sweat that gathered on my forehead. I studied my hands and prayed that that was dirt under my nails. I had barely made a dent in the manure, and I was sweating more than I care to admit.

The good news is that I adjusted to the rank smell long ago. The bad news is, as the harsh sun baked what I loaded into the barrels, it heated the blasted crap up, and the smell intensified tenfold. It was impossible to ignore. I found that being trapped inside the stuffy barn with the shadowed manure was a relief.

I quickly discovered that pigs might be the most annoying barn animals I'd had the displeasure of encountering. They were separated from me, corralled in a pin down at the other side of the Bloodhouse, but every time my work brought me close to them they would squeal with excitement.

A pig's squeal holds a kind of power I don't know how to explain, except for this: their squeals are as shrill and loud as the sun's bright and hot, and nothing in our galaxy can compare to its might. Every time they got going, I wanted to smack them over the head with my shovel, and I'm a gentle soul—obviously!

It got so bad at one point that I wished I hadn't been so hasty to turn down Newt's offer to butcher one this morning. Before I started all this, I had images of delightful little piggies bouncing around their pins and rolling happily in slop, letting out short snorts and generally being cute.

That couldn't have been farther from the truth. The pigs were huge, first of all. There wasn't a small one in the bunch. Most of them were so fat that they couldn't be bothered to move, but when they did, they charged at the other end of the pin—where exactly they hoped to go, I'll never know—and they let out a battle cry the likes of which only Grievers could rival.

They didn't so much roll happily in mud as they did plop their fat bellies down in their own feces and slide in it. The other pigs would join them, and _their_ bellies would coat the backs of each other. So, it was like… well. It was like a pigsty.

"I'm gonna call you Gally." I said to one that pressed its nose at me. It wasn't as big as the others. Younger, perhaps, though it was still larger than anything I'd imagined. Its ears twitched, and it let out a squeal and quickly waddled back to the rest of the pigs. They moved surprisingly fast for their size, especially this one, though his ankles were chubby like Gally's were.

"That's not nice," Said someone behind me. I turned to see my brother, and this did little to raise my spirits.

"Oh." I said, before I could stop myself. Jack frowned at the obvious hint of annoyance in my voice, and I sighed. "Come to watch me struggle?"

"Actually, I came to relieve you of duty." He smirked, and I had to stop myself from throwing my shovel into the dirt.

"Okay," I exclaimed. "Why does everyone make that joke!?" And then the meaning of his words registered. "Wait, what?"

Jack laughed, and for a moment it was like nothing changed. He laughed at me and my heart lifted and so did the corners of my mouth, and he put a hand on the fence and waved me closer. "I came to get you because Alby wants to talk to you."

"He's in a meeting though, right?" I picked my way over the mounds of manure I had procured, careful not to slip and fall like I had already done several times. I got close enough to lower my voice—which had previously been a bit of a shout, and Jack actually took a step back from me.

"Holy shuck, Jill," His nose wrinkled, and he leaned as far from me as he could without taking another step away. "Did you join the pigs for a roll?"

I snorted in spite of myself, ignoring how perfectly that reaction paralleled with his accusation, and waved impatiently at him. "Yes, yes, I stink. What do you mean Alby wants to talk to me? Do you… am I allowed to go to the meeting?"

"Not smelling like that." He waved a finger at me and pretended to hold his breath. Or, maybe he wasn't pretending. "You should change first."

"What's he want to talk about?" I frowned.

"Just about what you can remember."

"What I can remember? I can't remember anything." I frowned, as if Jack had all the answers I needed. I knew it was weird that Newt had been gone for so long. "Why would he be interested in what I can remember?"

Jack shrugged noncommittally. "He's just covering all his bases."

"Okay, but _why_? Did someone tell him I could remember—" I broke off, taking in the way Jack was avoiding my eyes, and studied him closely. Outwardly he was loose, casual. But something was off. "Jack, you can't remember anything either, right?"

"Only my name." He easily replied, leaning against the fence. "Seriously, Jill. Can't you smell that?" I only stared at him, and he gestured over his shoulder. "Wanna borrow one of my shirts? I've got a few now."

He's lying.

Why? Why is he lying about what he can remember? What can he remember?

"Jack, if you can remember something—"

"I can't, Jill. Don't you think I wished I could? All I know is—" He broke off and glanced away, his jaw tight. "We're stuck here, until I can find us a way out."

I studied him, and finally came to the conclusion that Jack had revealed all he was willing to reveal to me.

Well, fine. He didn't want to be honest with me? We're lying to each other now? Fine, just fine. I shoved away from the fence and stomped over to the gate. The same pig from before screeched at me, and my ears twitched in sensitivity. I couldn't hold it in—" _Shut up_!" I snapped, kicking at the fence he stood in front of, and that only made him squeal louder.

Jack said something from where he still stood, but I promptly ignored him. He said it louder as I threw the gate open and stepped through, and that's when things went very, very wrong.

The squealing persisted. It didn't give me pause until a spot of tan entered my vision, and suddenly—something knocked my feet out from under me.

I slid through the mud and the manure, the boots that were a bit too big for me did not help me to find purchase in the slightest, and the sight of bobbling ears and a bouncing, curly tail was the last thing I saw before I hit the ground.

The mud was warm and wet, and it coated the back of my head. I heard the squeal growing distant, spots dancing in my vision. Several things registered.

One, I opened the gate. Two, the gate is somehow connected to the pig's pin, a fact I had failed to notice. Three, the stupid pig that had been so intently screaming at me is now _darting around the Glade_.

I rocketed up from the pin, whirling on my heel. Jack was gone, bolting after the pig and shouting. The others were beginning to catch on, snorting and squeaking excitedly, but they moved slower than the one that escaped did.

I dove for the gate, the front of me becoming coated in mud, and the wooden thing bashed into the fence and bounced open slightly. Still, it stopped the few that had reached it from leaving. Good. There's only one to capture, then. I quickly struggled to stand, sliding and struggling to catch myself in the slick mud.

 _How the shuck did they manage to function in this mess?_ Suddenly their clumsy method of movements didn't seem so silly, and I finally managed to push myself out of the manure long enough to stand.

It's official. I'm completely covered in wet, brown mud, bits of hay stick to me, and I ignored that fact as I fastened the gate shut and whirled on my heels.

The pig made its way across the pasture, sliding out of the boy's grip like a bar of soap. He was totally covered in mud and manure, creating a slick coating that made him especially hard to capture. Especially given his surprising speed now that he was on dry land, and not sliding through mud and poop.

He squealed as he fled from the boys, a streak of brown and tan that headed straight for the Gardens.

I sprinted as fast as the boots allowed, but they did a lot to slow my progress. I probably looked ridiculous. I was absolutely drenched in mud, my hair slapping heavily against my back and my arms as I ran, and my steps were large and awkward to compensate for all the room the boots left. My knees almost hit my chest, and I was tilting from side to side with every stride. Twice, I almost lost my balance.

"Pig!" I screeched as it changed courses and ran towards me. "Stop!" I waved my hands and lowered slightly to the ground, preparing to launch myself at it. Its beady black eyes were wide, and its ears flapped in the wind as he charged straight for me. I had him. He was close, he was coming straight for me, I squatted low and prepared to lunge—

And naturally, of course, I missed. Where was everyone _at?_ It seemed like only me, Jack, and the black haired boy from the Bloodhouse were trying to capture the blasted thing! Then I remembered all the Keepers and Newt and Alby were waiting for me in the Homestead. They had no idea what was going on, and it seemed like the Gladers were too stunned by what they were seeing to alert them.

Besides that, it wasn't a very serious matter. I mean, here I am sliding around the Glade like an idiot, scrambling to catch a stupid little barn animal. Jack was doing a better job, he actually managed to get his arms around it a few times.

This had been my first job—my first task I was given as a Glader. I couldn't bear the thought of messing it up. The boys seemed to have a good handle on things. The black haired one would come at it from one side, Jack from the other, and though neither of them were able to catch it, they were able to herd it closer to the pin.

Then, things went from bad to worse.

The pig abruptly changed course. In a feat of athleticism I didn't know a barn animal possessed, it quickly spun around and darted under the black haired boy's legs, heading straight for the door to the maze.

And suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore. Suddenly, the Gladers weren't laughing, as Jack tore after the stupid thing.

"Jack, don't!" I screamed, chorusing with the black haired boy and several other Gladers. "No!"

My adrenaline was pumping furiously through my veins. I couldn't feel anything, physically, as I ran faster than I'd ever run before to try and tackle Jack. But he was far, _way_ too far. Probably the length of a football field from me by now, and he had never moved so fast.

He was like a god with wings; the male incarnation of Nike, Greek goddess of victory and speed. He launched himself at the pig when he was close enough, and actually managed to get a good hold on it.

I puttered to a stop, wheezing from the exertion it took to run like that. I was scared, _terrified_ that he would do something stupid, like run into the maze after a freaking pig.

 _So_ not worth it.

"Jack, you idiot!" I called, and his head snapped around to look at me. In his break of concentration, the pig wriggled out of his grip, and he fumbled to catch it. His hands slid over its back, and he caught one of its legs but it was too fast.

It took off for the door again, faster than before, because Jack had scared it. He _was_ scaring it, as he screamed in anger. Close, he had been so close.

He wasn't about to let it go, either, because Jack was a dog with a bone. Once he started something, he finished it.

I broke into a run, yelling at Jack—begging him not to go. Someone called my name from behind me, but I ignored them. I ran after him, fear spurning me on, and my heart exploded in my chest when the pig disappeared into the maze.

And Jack followed closely behind.

* * *

 _ **This one really got away from me ;) I didn't plan for the pig to run into the maze, and I certainly didn't plan for Jack to run into the maze quite yet. But it's all according to plan, dearies...**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Quick update, my friends! I was motivated by your quick responses :) Thank you to all the guests who take the time to review! Since I'm unable to message you, I just wanted to let you all know that I take the time to read each and every response, and they're ALL appreciated.**_

 _ **Right. Onward and upward, then!**_

* * *

"NO!" I screeched, horror and fear shooting icy tendrils through my body. I ran as fast as my feet could possibly carry me, not even thinking—just following, always following him.

"Jill, _stop_!" Yelled a voice behind me. But I ignored them. Their cries barely penetrated my consciousness, I was a freight train bound straight for the exit, flying directly towards my brother. I couldn't bear the thought of him in the maze. I couldn't take the thought of something happening to him, after all we'd been told—after all Newt had said about it.

With every step, the boots slid further and further down my feet. It got to the point where I was running on the heels, the rubber calves tripping me up, and before I had the chance to kick them off they were tangled in my feet and I went sailing through the air.

I rolled, catching myself just before I hit the ground face first and once again jostling my wrist, but the pain was the farthest thing from my mind. I had barely come to a stop on the ground before I was pushing myself up, stumbling towards the exit, but a hand finally latched onto my elbow.

" _Stop_ ," a voice commanded, yanking me closer to them—farther from the door—farther from Jack.

"No!" I screamed, pushing against them as hard as I could. But they were strong, so strong, and they locked their arms around me and held me tightly to their chest.

Tears blurred my vision as I looked up at them, begging them to let me go. I struggled to get my hands free so I could continue to hit them, but they were too strong. My vision cleared—slightly, just enough for me to tell who it is.

Newt's face was twisted with worry, with concern and sympathy, as he kept me locked in his arms and shook his head down at me. "Jill, you've got to let him go."

"The hell I do," I hissed, my voice breaking as I pushed fiercely against him.

"Hey!" Alby suddenly barked from next to us. "What the shuck is goin' on here?"

"Newt won't let me go, _that's_ what's going on—"

"No, I mean _why_ the shuck did your brother just chase a damn pig into the maze?!"

I pushed weakly against Newt's arms again, casting a bitter glare over my shoulder to the exit Jack had disappeared through. "He's a goddamn fool," I venomously spat, anger thawing my limbs that were once chilled to the bone with fear. "And he won't listen to anyone, which is why you have to let me _go_ ; I need to go after him, I have to save him before it's too late!"

"Like hell!" Newt said, pulling me tightly against him for emphasis, and I contemplated kicking him, but settled for giving him a rough shove.

"The Runners are still out there." Alby suddenly declared, and this was the first bit of information I'd heard that gave me pause. I froze and looked to Alby, wondering if I should dare to have hope.

"But—it—it's late, right? It's getting late, and he's out there. The Runners are coming back soon, right? What if he's still out there when they come back?"

"He won't be." Alby firmly said, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "If there's a squealing pig running out there, the Runners will hear it for sure. And something tells me your brother won't be far behind." His words worked to calm me, though I was still yearning to dash into the maze and drag him back here myself. Alby's eyes softened as he turned them onto me, and he reached out to squeeze my shoulder. "They'll find him."

"You should've seen him run," Said a faintly quiet new voice from behind us. I turned and realized most of the Gladers had gathered around us and were watching, quietly whispering to each other. "I've never seen anyone so fast!"

"I'm guessing you won't let me go out searching for him." I said lowly, and Newt scoffed behind me. I stepped forcefully on his toe, cutting his snicker to an abrupt grunt, and Alby raised an eyebrow at me.

"The only thing that would do is get you lost. Besides that, you're not a Runner. Only Runners are allowed in the maze, and all of them are already out there!"

"Yeah, let's talk about _that_." Gally's nasally voice suddenly buzzed from behind us.

I stiffened and Newt seemed to register that I wasn't about to run out into the maze, especially now that Gally was about to say something about my brother and I'd want to stick around long enough to put him in his place.

Something about having Newt there, so close with me, was comforting in a way that's difficult to explain. I knew he couldn't bring my brother back to me. Not here, and not as things were, but he brought me a peace of mind that I'm not sure I can find anywhere else. I know he has my back. I'm not sure that many other Gladers would've stepped up to stop me from blindly throwing myself into the maze—and honestly, I'm not sure what would've happened if I had gone in there.

The truth is, I have no idea where Jack went. And even if I did, what would've happened if I found him? Assuming he was able to keep up with the pig, what if he hadn't caught it yet? There's nothing I could say to him to convince him to get back to the Glade—especially since Jack would've just felt like I was babying him and fretting needlessly over his safety. He thinks he has everything under control, always, even when he does reckless things like this.

So honestly, best-case scenario I would've been able to catch up to him. But then what? I would've been lost out in the maze, unable to find my way back, and probably fighting with my brother constantly when we should've been worried about getting back to the Glade

Newt saved me, really. It irks me to admit it to myself, but he was right to stop me like he did. I'm thankful to have him, and to have him here with me.

He was still restraining me, pinning me in place with his arms and holding my arms tightly against my body. But he was mindful of my wrist, he didn't touch it—rather, he held that arm by its elbow and had it tucked down against my hip. I tapped his forearm where it squeezed my collarbone, and Newt's grip immediately loosened, worried he'd been squeezing too tight.

Using that to my advantage, I turned my head so that I could show him my face. He looked down at me and frowned. "No, Jill, you need to—"

"I know." I said quietly, as the other boys continued to murmur about what happened and what it meant. But Alby and the rest of the Keepers watched me closely, waiting to see what I would do next. Newt's eyes narrowed suspiciously and I nodded my head. "I'm good. You can let go."

Slowly, hesitantly, he unwound his arms from around me. He watched me like a hawk as he stepped away, his hands up and ready to grab me if I tried anything fancy. I put my hands up in a calming gesture and looked around, silently bidding them to continue.

Alby watched me for a beat more before turning to Gally.

"Talk about what?" He finally said, and Newt backed away from me. Panicking, I reached out and latched onto his hand. His head whipped back to me and I tried to silently ask him not to leave me. Something in his expression softened, and he stepped closer to me again as they continued.

"Jack broke a rule, and that means punishment." A quiet discontent broke over the group and I stiffened. "So," He continued loudly so he could be heard over the boys, "If he comes back then I think he needs to be thrown in the pit until we can decide what to do about him."

" _When_ he comes back." I viciously corrected, and Gally glanced over at me. He couldn't quite muster a glare, for some reason. Something he saw in the way I stood.

And when he replied, it wasn't as harsh or mean as I expected it to be. It was actually rather gentle. "If. He comes back." He said quietly, and my jaw clenched as I turned my wild gaze onto Alby.

"Come on," I scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Jack is an idiot," Gally snorted, "But he's not putting any of you in danger! He's just—" I broke off, hesitating with what I was about to say. Glancing briefly back at Newt, I squared my shoulders before I continued. "He's just cleaning up my mess."

"What?" Said one of the Gladers, and Alby raised his hands to silently tell everyone to settle.

"What are you talking about?" Newt asked, and I realized that his hand was still in mine. My heart leapt into my throat and I quickly dropped it, heat creeping up my neck and scorching my cheeks.

"I—I lost the pig. It's my fault." I didn't dare look around the crowd as I quietly continued, but there was little I could do to drown out the hissing whispers from the Gladers around me. "It was my job to clean the pig's pen, and I was stupid enough to let one escape. Jack's just trying to fix my mistake."

"Jill, that's ridiculous." Alby frowned, and I was admittedly shocked. "No one told your brother to go running into that maze. And Gally's right; he broke a rule, and for no good reason. A pig is replaceable… Your brother is not."

His words carried a lot of weight, because I knew that they could really punish my brother for this. There aren't very many rules in the maze, and he's already managed to break one.

"The rules are there for a reason," Gally persisted. "We can't just have Gladers breaking them willy-nilly, especially not over a shucking piglet. You _know_ that, Alby. He's gone too far."

"When the Runners come back with him, we'll decide what to do." Alby said, and I have to admit that it brought me some comfort to hear that he believed my brother would come back, too. "Let's just hope he isn't stung."

And just like that, any comfort, any sanity that had returned to me was knocked right back. I assumed we were done here, and I couldn't stand to listen to another word anyways, so I promptly turned on my heel and marched past Newt.

As I walked, I realized the boots had actually fallen off of my feet. The only clean part of me _was_ in fact, my feet, and the rest was coated with drying mud and manure. I knew I smelt to high heavens, and as Newt suddenly caught up to me, I realized that the front of him was covered in the nasty business, as well.

My cheeks flared pink as I remembered holding his hand. Embarrassment colored every part of me because I probably smelled repulsive when he was restraining me—and then I had to go and hold his hand like some prissy little girl—and now he probably doesn't want to give me the wrong idea.

"Jill, hold on a second," He reached out and grabbed my shoulder. I stopped but couldn't bear to look at his face, and he tried to catch my eye as he spoke. "You were really stupid back there, you know that, right?"

I toed the ground sheepishly and sighed quickly, muttering under my breath.

"You could be out in the bloody maze right now!" He continued, his voice rising. I ducked my head and kept quiet as he pressed on, trying to get me to react. "Don't do that ever again! You don't know what's out there, you don't _know_ —"

He broke off, and I rubbed at my nose in shame. "Bloody hell." He muttered. "Are you crying?"

"No," I pouted, but my voice was thick and it gave me away. Suddenly, Newt reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders, tugging me into him. To say that I was shocked would be the understatement of the year. For an irrational minute, I thought he was going to push me down or something, but then he squeezed me into a bone crushing hug and I found that I was unable to move.

Stunned, it took a moment for my mind to catch up to his actions, and when they did, an overwhelming urge to sob crashed over me. I felt like I was drowning with worry, and the only thing I knew to do was push against his chest weakly.

He read my actions wrong and abruptly let me go. As he tried to step away, I threw my now free arms around him and latched on for dear life, squeezing my eyes shut as hard as I could. I stood on my tiptoes and buried my chin into his shoulder, and his arms slowly reached around to pat my back awkwardly.

"I'm so scared," I whispered, and Newt finally pressed his arms into my back, squeezing me closer.

A moment passed where neither of us said anything. As I clutched Newt, my only friend in the Glade, and what seems to be quickly becoming my life raft, I felt the worry and pain slowly unwind in my heart. It moved over a bit to make room for the comfort he provided.

I opened my eyes and looked down at the grass below us. "And pissed." I quietly added, mumbling into his shoulder. Newt's chest rumbled with laughter, and the vibrations he produced rolled through me and lifted my spirits, and before I knew it I was laughing, too.

He took a deep breath to pause from laughing and suddenly pressed his hands into my back again. "You stink," He choked out, his accent thick, and I could barely breathe through my gut-wrenching laughter. " _Really_ bad."

I think I was in some kind of shock, but the tears that streamed down my face were mixed with so many emotions that I didn't know what I was feeling. Joy, to have a friend like Newt here to comfort me. Fear, that Jack might not return. And fear that he would.

I finally pushed him away and sniffed, swiping at my cheeks with the backs of my wrists. My bandages were totally ruined, along with my clothes, and I looked Newt's state of clothes over.

"You look ridiculous," I teased, and his eyebrows shot up. He reached out and gave me a gentle shove, making me stumble as he scoffed.

"Who's fault is that!?"

"Well it's not mine," I defended, and he scoffed louder. "No one told you to stop me!"

"Well," His voice was low, amused but frustrated. "You ungrateful little bean,"

"Not ungrateful." I said, in a rare moment of seriousness, and his eyes softened in that way they only seemed to do for me. It made me squirm and look away, unaccustomed to having a special reaction from someone like that. "Just… unwilling to admit defeat."

"Stubborn, then."

"No, that's my brother."

"It's you too," He said, wagging a finger at me. "You're two sides of the same coin."

I raised a wry eyebrow at him. "I'll pretend you didn't say that," I hated to be compared to my brother, especially when it involved his bad traits. Newt smirked at me and I sighed, shrugging. "I don't think a fresh change of clothes is going to cut it…" I mused, looking down at how thoroughly coated I was. "You guys don't happen to have showers, do you?"

"Actually, we do."

* * *

"I think the term 'shower' is generous, don't you?" I dryly observed, looking over the pump. It was tall, tall enough for Newt to duck under. But I was short enough not to have to crouch. Still, it functioned in much the same way an antiquated water pump did, and I didn't have to use it to know that the luxury of heated showers is basically a dead technology.

"Be grateful to have something at all. It's better than a bucket and a rag." He crossed his arms and gave me _a look_ , one that said not to refute him.

I carefully mulled my retort over, eyeing the contraption distastefully. "I suppose. It's great." Though neither of us thought I was being sincere, the sentiment was hopefully appreciated, and Newt passed his armful of clothes to me.

"These will have to do. The pants have always been a bit high on me, so they should be better than most." His eyes flickered over my frame, and my heart suddenly fluttered in my chest, my cheeks heating slightly. "You're just so bloody tiny… you're going to have to make some smaller friends, Jill."

Something had shifted in my feelings for him. Where before I viewed him as a good friend; someone to lean on and a companion to confide in, now I was noticing things about him.

Like how his sleeves were almost always pushed up, and his cheekbones were defined to just the right amount. His jaw was angular, but his chin was soft. He had a subtle freckle just under his right eye, and in a certain light his eyes appeared blue. His voice breaks when he's worried about something, especially if he's stressed, and where it would seem juvenile and annoying in most boys, I find it to be endearing and expressive in him.

I almost wished I wasn't so hyperaware of these strange little quirks he has. It was easier before, to just appreciate his company and be grateful for his companionship. It happened very quickly, and it was still brand new, but suddenly I would catch myself wanting more. And now that I'm aware of it, it's become _impossible_ to ignore.

I'm still trying to find a way to blame it on Jack, but that's becoming harder with every passing second. "Friends aren't my forte." I slyly admitted, and Newt's eyebrows scrunched together.

"Really?" He looked back to the shower, tossing the bottle of soap in between his hands. "That's not what I would've said, but all right." Before I could ask him to elaborate, he threw the bottle of soap at me and I scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground. "Make it quick, would ya? I'll be right out there, but try to remember where you are. Not everyone here is as…" He paused, "Respectful as I am."

I cringed as he turned and left me to it. First, I tested the pump. It was sturdy enough, and the stuff that it puked out was a fat stream of freezing, murky, slightly stinky water. But it was better than nothing.

So I set about peeling the rank clothes from my body, and found that my hair was stiff and the fabric had actually become stuck on my skin so that it was difficult to remove. I peeled my poor socks from my feet and threw all the clothes in a pile; not exactly sorry to see them go. Finally, I stepped up to the pump and took a deep breath.

I squealed when the first stream hit my chest, trickling down my stomach and chilling my toes, and hopped back like it burned me. The grass tickled my feet and I knew I'd have to take care not to slide in the mud, causing me to wonder if my feet would ever be clean again.

"Jill?" Newt called from outside, and I went rigid, heating with embarrassment and worried he would try to come inside. "All right?"

"Yes!" I quickly choked out before he could even finish the question. "It's just bloody _freezing_ ," I managed, my voice tight and trembling, and I could hear him crack up from outside.

"Careful! You're starting to pick up my slang, greenie!" He called back, and I quickly told him to shut up. Now is _so_ not the time to exchange witty banter.

Steeling myself, I ducked under for round two. I shivered violently and wondered how no one became sick from this, but then I also realized it was probably rare that most boys utilized the shower, anyhow. The mud took a bit to get wet again, but once it was, it was extremely easy to rinse off.

The soap was liquid, and I assumed that it functioned as a body wash and a shampoo. I was just glad it wasn't a bar of soap. It would be a nightmare to get enough water for it to lather up. I used as little of the ice water as I possibly could, but all in all it probably took me around ten minutes to get the mud and manure off my body and the soap totally lathered.

No sooner had I accomplished it then I heard someone walk past outside, and Newt's voice joined him.

"—tell her when she's finished, and not a second sooner!"

"She's going to want to know! He's her brother!"

I froze, not even flinching as the cold stream crashed over my hair, and quickly ran my hand through it. "Newt," I called, and heard a low exclamation, and the sound of something crashing. "Newt!"

"It's fine!" He shouted, his voice sounding strained. "Everything's fine. Just hurry up, would ya?"

"Is it Jack?"

"…I'll tell you in a minute."

"No!" I whirled on my heels and glared at the spot in the wall I knew he was standing behind. "Tell me now!"

"When you're finished!"

" _Now_ , Newt!"

"Jill, I don't—"

Fed up, I reached over and swiped up the gray towel Newt had given me and wrapped it tightly around my body. There was still soap sliding down my arms and legs, but I ignored that fact as I stumped up to the door to the showers.

"Newt whatever-your-last-name-is," I breathed fire through the door, absolutely outraged that there was something to know about my brother and he wasn't telling me. "You either tell me about Jack or I'll go find out myself!"

"You can go yourself. Just, get dressed—"

"Tell me _now!_ " I growled, punching the door anxiously.

"He's back!" Called the other voice from before, the one who had spoken quietly to Newt.

I shoved the door open and stepped out, shocking the boys who were just outside. Newt pushed away from where he'd been leaning on the wall and his eyes were about to pop out of his head. Minho stood next to him, and his eyes were wide, too, but there was an unmistakable boyish smirk accompanying it. "Whoa!" Minho cheekily grinned, looking over my scantily clad form. " _That's_ his sister?"

"Jill, what the hell are you doing?" Newt hissed, pushing Minho back and looking around frantically. His face had never been so red, but I ignored that as I marched straight up to him and stopped just before my nose touched his chin.

He swallowed, his eyes desperately glued to my face and not straying an inch lower. "Where is he?" I demanded, and Minho immediately pointed towards the Homestead.

I turned and began to march angrily in that direction, shrugging Newt's hand off when he tried to stop me. But my arm was still wet, so I slid from his grip easily, and he scrambled after me anxiously.

"Jill, think about what you're doing," He rationally pled, gesturing over my body. "You're practically naked, for pete's sake! Look at you! You think Jack is going to—"

"I don't give a good god damn _what_ Jack is going to do! Or what he's going to say, or even what he's going to think!" I hissed, angry like I'd never been before. Minho laughed almost giddily, his face tickled pink with amusement. Gladers dropped things as we stormed past, freezing and stunned into silence as they caught sight of me.

Seems it'd been a while since they'd seen a naked girl… or maybe they'd _never_ seen a naked girl. But, the good news is, I'm _not_ naked. I've got a towel on.

Newt was still trying to stop me, but I think he knew it was pointless because he wasn't trying to grab me anymore. I finally caught sight of a tall, blonde head in the gathering. He was panting heavily and his face was flushed with exertion, and when he caught sight of me he immediately frowned in confusion, his eyes taking in my state.

And then he saw my face, and he realized exactly how mad I was, and he had the balls to meet me halfway. The boys around us had the good sense to give me a wide berth, but Newt was not far behind, and Minho was too amused to miss any action, so we definitely had a crowd.

"Jill," Jack breathed, his hands up in a calming gesture. "Listen to me. Before you say anything, I—"

My hand flashed out and cracked against his cheek, his head jerking to the side. Silence rang out over the Glade, and I was panting, _fuming_ with anger. I was so mad I could barely see straight. I reached up again to smack him, and he didn't even put up a fight as I began to strike him again, and again, punching, kicking, _screaming_ at him to tell him how incredibly stupid he was. To let him know exactly how much he'd scared me, how dangerous that stupid stunt was, how nobody was impressed by his recklessness.

Someone grabbed my arms to hold me back, and I fought against them. Jack's eyes were a peculiar mixture of sadness, guilt and disappointment as he looked at me, an expression on his face I'd never seen before. He looked like he finally realized what he'd done. Like maybe he was wrong, and he had gone too far.

 _Good_.

Newt let go of my arms, but put a hand on my shoulder and turned me away, apparently having good enough sense for the both of us, and led me back towards the showers. He didn't touch me for any longer than was necessary, a testament to how uncomfortable my state of dress made him given the fact that he'd usually have an arm slung across my shoulders right now. I didn't even know I was crying until some absolutely dense Glader pointed it out as we passed.

"Stupid klunk-stained slinthead." I grumbled, and Newt tried to hide a grin, which made me fight back my own grin. "He's got no idea what he's done."

"You know, I think you might be right about that." Newt mused, and it quieted between us again. He snuck a quick glance at my face as we approached the showers. "You know, you could've waited until you were dressed."

"It wasn't my main concern." I admitted, shivering despite myself. "They're going to put him in the pit, aren't they?" I asked, my voice so quiet I didn't know if he could catch it.

Newt sighed and put his hands in his pockets, rocking thoughtfully on his heels. "That's… probably very likely, yes."

I looked down at my feet, which were still rather dirty, and paused before replying. "I don't blame them."

And with that, I disappeared into the showers.

* * *

Some time later, the sun had set, and I found that I didn't have much of an appetite. There was charred meat and potatoes for dinner, and for a moment I worried it was pork. But Newt was quick to identify it as chicken, apparently reading the expression on my face. He and I sat alone for dinner, though the stares of the Gladers were unmistakable, and before long I simply couldn't take their whispers anymore.

They were talking about me, and how I had reacted when Jack came back. How I had stormed through half naked. They also talked about Jack and how he was in the pit with no food for the night. I contemplated bringing him something, but I honestly didn't feel like looking him in the face.

Currently, I'm standing in front of the pig's pen. The stupid git had actually managed to capture and return the blasted animal that started this whole mess. I watched it snort happily with its brothers and sisters, nudging its slop around their troughs, squealing without a care in the world.

I tossed a rock at its back and it startled, quickly scrambling to another side of the pen and away from me. "Little bugger." I muttered.

"Ah ha," Newt said from behind me. "Back to the scene of the crime."

I turned to look at him, trying to muster the energy to be annoyed with him. But I found that it wasn't in me. I smiled at him and scooted over, a silent invitation, and it didn't take long for his form to lean on the fence next to me.

"I think I'm ready to slaughter that pig now." My voice was soft, uncharacteristically drained, and Newt barked out a surprised laugh.

"No, green… I think I'll keep you clear from the animals from now on." He smirked, and I laughed despite myself.

I turned to look thoughtfully at his face, and he looked back at me questioningly. A warm feeling pooled in my stomach, doing wonders to lift my mood like nothing I'd ever encountered, and it was all because of this boy in front of me. Unable to take it, I looked down at my hands and frowned. "I think… I think you're my best friend right now."

"Well damn," His voice was laced with unshed laughter, and I could tell I had shocked him. "Try not to sound so bloody glum about it!"

I chuckled sadly, tugging at my ear and grinning at the ground. "No, I mean… Jack used to be my best friend, you know? And in some ways, he still is. He'll always be. But… I don't think he's my brother anymore."

"What do you mean?" Newt frowned.

"I mean… He's different. He's the same, but it's different—it's… I don't know what I mean." I pushed away from the gate and began to pace. "All I know is that the second we woke up in that box, something between us changed. He's hiding things from me, Newt—that's never happened before!"

"So, you're growing apart. Maybe that's natural." Newt gently suggested, trying to offer me a rational explanation. But I knew he was wrong, I know Jack.

"It's more than that," I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair. "It's not like he's not telling me about a crush on some girl, he's—" I broke off with a frustrated sigh, and suddenly turned to Newt. "If I tell you something, will you swear to keep it between us?"

He nodded, having pushed away from the fence as well. His hands were on his hips and he seemed worried, unsure of how to react to this news. "No, I mean it!" I insisted, stepping closer to him. Newt's eyebrows rose at my intensity and he nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, I promise!"

I thought back to how I would make Jack promise things as children, the silly habit we still do today—and I paused. _Don't do it._ I looked up at Newt's earnest gaze and my fingers twitched. _Jill_! _Don't you bloody—_

My pinky shot up between us, pointing at him almost accusingly. Newt's eyebrows dropped, his face wiping to an almost dumbly blank expression as he stared at the extended appendage. Silence grew between us and I shifted on my feet, wiggling my little finger at him expectantly. His eyes flickered back up to mine and I felt my heart kick off at a race, my cheeks growing warm at my childish tradition.

"Promise me." I said, my voice thick with humiliation, but I pushed through it.

Newt blinked down at my pinky again. "…Serious?"

"Yes!" I snapped, and his eyebrows shot up again as he looked at me for a breath more before finally, miraculously, his little finger reached up and hooked around mine.

"Promise," He swore, and I shook them almost professionally, giving them two quick pumps, and then immediately let them drop. I cleared my throat and looked down as I crossed my arms and stepped away, my face still hot.

"Right." I mumbled. "I think Jack remembers things… things from before."

Newt stepped forward, all traces of amusement gone. "Jill, you should tell—"

"No!" I cried, desperate for him to understand. "That's why I made you promise. That's _exactly_ why, Newt! I have no proof. He's not even said anything to me; it's just a feeling. I could just be being paranoid, really, I…"

I lifted my gaze wearily to meet his, and was surprised to see how seriously he was taking this. "But you're not." He grimly stated. "You're not overreacting, are you?"

I paused and looked down, my mind flashing back to the way Jack had avoided my gaze earlier. "…No."

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it's unusual, for sure. But that doesn't mean it's anything _bad_."

"True," I granted, locking gazes with him. "But what if it is? What if it's bad?"

Newt's eyes looked all over my face, between both my eyes and at the grim line my mouth drew, before finally minutely shrugging. "What if it is?" He asked, apparently leaving that decision up to me.

I blinked at him, looking down at my boots as I thought. Newt's clothes were loose, but not as big as I had feared. I needed a makeshift belt to hold the pants up, and the bottoms had to be rolled to my knees so they didn't look quite so ridiculous. They were black, and his shirt was green. Even with the buttons done up, it left a little too much room for cleavage, but there's nothing to be done about that. Boxers were something I'd have to get used to—but once again, there's nothing to be done about that.

I thought back to his question. Jack can remember things from our past. Exactly what, I've no clue, and he's likely never going to say. But maybe I'll be able to tell, as time goes on, and with luck, maybe I can get him to confess.

What if it turns out to be bad? Could my brother be dangerous? If he's involved in any fashion at all with whoever stuck us here, my answer has to be a resounding yes, because I can see no good reason for it… but again, there's no proof. Maybe all he has is a way out. Maybe that's why he's so anxious to get to the maze.

There's just no way for me to know. All I can do is hedge my bets, and try to figure out what the responsible thing to do is. I looked back up at Newt and set my jaw.

"Then we tell."

* * *

 _ ***Dramatic music plays, credits roll.***_

 _ **Stay tuned for the next installment of The Sun and The Moon! And don't forget to leave a review; remember, the more response the writer gets, the faster the updates the readers get!**_


	7. Chapter 7

"Seven months?" I asked, my jaw all but on the ground as I stared incredulously at Newt. He paused from chewing on his apple to look at me from the corner of his eye, amusement dancing in their depths. They flickered over my face, and his grin deepened at my astonishment.

"Yeah, that's right." He put his fruit down and sat up, turning to cross his arms at me. He'd led me to a part of the maze that was less trafficked, under a tree where there was a hammock that basically anyone was able to use. For whatever reason, we chose to stay on the ground, a blanket spread under us. Night had fallen, and while there wasn't a celebration tonight, many boys were gathered around a bonfire near the Homestead. "How long did you think I'd been here?"

"I—I don't know, Newt, that's a _long_ time." I said, as if that would change his answer. His eyebrows raised and he nodded at me. "I've been here for _two days_ and so much has happened."

"Yeah, well, that's because you and your brother are freaks," He snickered, dodging my fist when it flashed out to clip his shoulder.

"No, but seriously—that's… that's over half a year!" I exclaimed, and Newt's boyish laugh was contagious.

He bit into his apple and his voice was high and broke slightly as he exclaimed, "I know!" Around a mouthful of fruit.

I sighed and leaned back, trying to imagine being stuck in here for seven months. Seven months, and seven new Gladers. No wonder he's so… Newt-y. "Have you always been a drifter?"

He frowned at me. "A what?"

"A drifter." I looked back at him and tried not to laugh at his expression. It seems impossible to have a serious conversation with him, but for some reason it was fun to try. "You know, you're not really here—not really there." He blinked at me. I propped myself up on my elbows. "Sometimes you work in the Garden. Sometimes you help Alby with the newbies." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at me with that one, a smile playing at his lips that I struggled to ignore. "Sometimes you…" I trailed off, unsure how to finish. "Well, I don't know, what else do you do?"

Newt turned away and mulled my question over. "A drifter…" His jaw wiggled slightly as he thought about it and sighed heavily. "Well, I wasn't always a _drifter_." His eyes twinkled and I bit back my smile so hard I thought I'd make my cheeks bleed, but I was determined for this to be a semi-serious conversation. It seemed like we could barely get through two sentences without laughing at each other, but I was genuinely interested in getting to know him. "I've been a Runner before."

"What?" I sat up so fast, Newt leaned back and raised his eyebrows at me, silently teasing me for my eagerness—which I promptly ignored. "When? And why aren't you anymore?"

"Well…" He looked down and tugged at his ear. "I don't know if you've noticed my limp or not," I was careful not to react to that, which he seemed mildly grateful for. "It's got something to do with that, let's leave it there."

I stared at him, keeping my expression frozen for so long he started to notice. Inside, I felt like I was bursting at the seams with questions, but I was _very_ cautious not to let them escape. It was obviously a delicate matter we were delving into, and I didn't want to push him too far.

"You look quite constipated," He calmly observed in his lilting accent, and that was the straw that broke the camel's back. I burst into laughter and was rewarded with a crooked grin, and he turned around to pluck another apple out of his rucksack. "Maybe you should have an apple," He suggested, trying to push it into my hands, but I batted it away and laughed at him again. "Get the line moving, if you know what I mean,"

"Oh my god!" I giggled, swatting at his arm. "Stop it! Stop talking about my bowel movements!"

"I'm concerned!" He laughed, and I could feel my face heating up. "You've been here almost two days now and not even asked me where the klunker's at—"

" _Newt_ ," I squeaked, burying my face in my hands and falling over in the grass.

"It's perfectly natural." He ruthlessly continued, and I groaned and pushed my face into the ground in humiliation. "Everybody poos." It's official. I was howling with laughter, and I thought my face would melt from the heat it was suffering under, and Newt began poking my sides. I jerked every time he did, struggling to catch my breath, and he was laughing now, too. "That's the spirit! Let it out, Jill, it's only healthy. No need to feel embarrassed."

"You could at least call it the _loo_ ," I huffed, peeking at him from behind my hands. He scoffed at me.

"That's very stereotypical of you."

"Well you're upsetting my feminine mores."

"If I pretend to know what that means, will you stop?"

I reached up and smacked arm. " _You_ stop!" I scolded. "Stop dodging the subject!"

"I'm sorry, I've forgotten the question," He hid a mischievous smile behind his hand and I tried to frown at him but failed miserably.

"When were you a Runner?" I asked, and he sighed, turning away from me.

"You're really set on having this conversation, aren't you?" Newt's face shone yellow from the glare of the nearby fire, and when he turned away from me I caught a glint of something darker hiding in his eyes. It sucked the smile right from my face, and I listened a little more closely than I was before. "I wasn't a Runner for a very long time. It took about four months before I was finally allowed to join, and then I was only apart of it for about a month and a half, maybe a little more."

Before I had the chance to ask, he turned back to me with a sad, somber expression shining in his eyes. "It tore me up, Jill. It was too much. I couldn't handle it."

"What do you mean?" I whispered.

"I mean it was _killing_ me." He drew into himself, bringing his knees up to his chest and picking at the top of his apple. "I was so sure I could find a way out. If I could just get out there and see it for myself, you know?" He swallowed roughly, and turned the apple around and around in his hand, his fingers tracing every edge and line of it. "It wouldn't be easy, but it was possible. That's what I thought. It was like… a really difficult riddle that no one could figure the answer to. A _game_. A challenge. I thought I could save us all. I thought I could save _myself_ , but once I got out there and I ran every single route, start to finish, and I still came back empty handed—it's… it's like I left a part of me in the maze every time. It's like, every morning, I got up and I went out there, and a piece of me got lost in it."

I wanted to take his hand so bad. There was nothing I wanted more in that moment then to reach out and take his hand, to pull him back from those dark memories I forced him to retreat into. Regret and compassion ate away at my heart, and when I saw his eyes shining I felt his pain, and I wanted to take it away. I wanted it so bad that it scared me, but I was too much of a coward to do anything about it.

He clenched his jaw and dropped his hand to the ground, squeezing the apple until his knuckles were white. "Until one day," He said quietly, "I got the brilliant bloody idea to climb to the top of a wall."

My eyes nearly popped out of my head, and without realizing it I turned to look at one of the walls behind him. It was incredibly tall; tall enough that I could scarcely see the top, and I remember thinking it touched the top of the world when I first got here.

"Well," I breathed, eagerly scooting closer to him. "It's not a bad idea! You could probably see the entire maze from up there."

"That's what I thought, too. And I could." He paused to glance up at me, and his brown eyes were hard enough that they looked black for a minute. I blinked and almost couldn't handle the intensity of his gaze, but before I had to look away he broke the stare and focused back on the apple in his hand. "I could see it all… And nothing at all." His grip slackened, and the apple rolled from his hand. "It was too much. There were so many walls, there would be no way to figure out one end from another before they moved again, and you _don't_ want to be up there when they move—trust me. I got all the way to the top looking for answers, only to find that it's impossible. There's no bloody way out of this _pit_."

Unable to resist, I reached out and took his hand, and he flinched slightly at my sudden touch, his eyes snapping up to meet mine. Like he had forgotten I was there. I brought my other hand up and cradled his in both of mine, squeezing it tightly. "You don't have to tell me any more." I murmured, and he blinked, his tortured eyes filled to the brim with an emotion I couldn't fathom.

He clenched his jaw, a muscle tightening and jumping, and he paused before nodding. It seemed to pain him to do so, and my hand wanted to reach out and touch his forehead, to smooth the frown away. But I didn't.

"Newt," I whispered, and he looked all over my face—searching for _I don't know_ what. "We'll get out." I said, and that seemed to be exactly what he was afraid of hearing. His head ducked and he shivered, shaking his head slowly. "Do you hear me?" I persisted, urgently reaching out to take his face between my hands and forcing him to look at me. "We're not _trapped_ here." I scooted forward until my knees pressed into his and he reached up to cling to my hands where they gripped his face. " _We're not trapped_."

He swallowed and looked desperately over my face again, and I pressed my forehead into his and repeated myself. Finally, he seemed to find whatever he was looking for, because he nodded and our noses brushed, and his grip on my hands slackened, and he let out a shuddering sigh and hung his head.

And that was the last time we talked about that for a while.

* * *

I knew it was a dream because I was in the maze. When I finally fell asleep for the first time since waking in the Glade, I fell into a dream about being lost in the maze. Life is so… sadistic, isn't it?

I wandered for a while, basically running down aisles and not so much deciding where to go as letting the shrieks guide where I _didn't_ go. I moved away from the sounds of the monsters, but it never occurred to me that they could be herding me to some destination.

At least, not until I realized I was at the edge of a cliff. And I gasped and froze, turning to leave—but the shrieks—they were all around me! _No one's seen a Griever and lived to tell about it._ Their screams came from down the path that led back into the maze and away from the black abyss below, where mist rose up and tried to grab onto my loose clothes and drag me over the edge.

I couldn't retreat down the path, because the monsters were closing in. I couldn't go up the walls, because there was no ivy here. I couldn't go in the abyss—because that was certain death.

"We're not trapped," My voice whispered in my ear, and I jumped to the side and saw Jack beside me. I reached out for him, but the closer my hand got, the more he backed away—until he backed onto the path and turned to sprint back in the maze, where some dark shadow crept forward for him. It was waiting at the end of the path, and it's like he never saw it coming—like I was the only one who could see its shadow, as it slid forward and swallowed him whole, and his screams echoed in my mind.

"Down," A voice tickled my ear and I almost stumbled over the edge, but a hand tightly grasped me by the elbow and yanked me back just in time. I stumbled into Newt's chest and almost bashed my forehead into his nose, but he backed up and took me by the shoulders. "Down!" He said again.

I frowned and shook my head, trying to get him to let go of me. "What? Let go—"

"Down!" He cried, and shook me like it was the most important thing in the world.

I tried to jerk out of his grasp, but only succeeded in stumbling back—but there was no ground to stumble onto, and I gasped, the unmistakable sensation of vertigo lifting me and then pulling me down over the cliff, Newt still holding on for dear life.

* * *

I gasped and lurched forward with a cry, my hammock swinging deeply and spitting me out onto the ground. I crashed into the dirt face-first; this time not jostling my wrist so much as bashing the side of my face, and my shoulder winced in pain. "Oh-ho-ho," I whined, squeezing my eyes shut.

So, okay. I finally got some sleep in the Glade, but it's apparently chock-full of horrific nightmares in which boys throw me off the edge of the world and I can whisper in my own ear. And I repulse my brother so much that he literally commits suicide to get away from me. _Lovely_.

"What are you doing?" Newt asked from above me, his hands on his hips.

I groaned again and looked up, blinking drearily from my sleep-addled state. "I fell from my hammock." I croaked pathetically, and Newt made a funny face at me.

"Well what'd you do that for?"

I scoffed, sitting up and rubbing my eyes in an attempt to clear my vision. "Seemed like the thing to do at the time." I muttered, and he waved me up from the ground as if he hadn't heard me.

"All right then, enough dilly-dallying, there's work to be done—food to be eaten—did I mention the work there's to be done?"

"I think you said something about that briefly, yeah," I agreed, trying to keep up with his fast pace as I shoved myself off the ground. But I got a head rush and almost fell back into my hammock, swaying dangerously. Newt quickly reached out and caught me, pushing me forward until I stumbled a step towards the exit.

"There ya go!" He chirped. "Bloody brilliant day, isn't it?"

"What's the matter with you?" I whined, squinting at him from the corner of my eye. He looked at me like I'd grown two heads, and I pointed all over his _extremely_ hyper self. "Why are you so… _perky_?"

"I think you're just a grouch in the mornings." He smirked, and I crossed my arms in the chill of the morning air as I let him all but drag me towards the Homestead.

"You said the same thing yesterday."

"Actually, I said you were sweet in the mornings yesterday," He corrected, holding a finger up to emphasize his point.

"Well make up your mind," I teased, and he smirked back.

"Ah, finally! Some witty banter. I was worried you'd bonked your head and gone stupid on me."

"Someone really oughtta swat you." I grumbled, and he threw his head back and laughed, drawing a tiny smile from me.

"Think it's mush for breakfast this morning." He pointed down at a large helping of… what looked like grey oatmeal, in two bowls already laid out on the table. I raised my eyebrows at him and he winked. "Learned my lesson yesterday. It's a bad idea to leave you to fend for yourself in the mornings."

"Blame Gally," I said, ignoring the part of that morning that involved my brother and sliding onto the bench of the table so I could inspect the _mush_ more closely. It didn't have any particular sort of smell, and when I dipped a spoon into it and let it plop back into the bowl I realized it was watery oatmeal. Not so bad.

I looked over and saw Newt slicing an apple into eight pieces, passing four of them to me. "Can I ask you a question?" I said, and he stiffened unconsciously. I knew he was probably thinking back to the last question I'd forced him to answer, and I was quick to get to the point so he knew it wasn't another heavy one. Honestly I don't think I'll be asking him another one of those; I didn't much care for what they seemed to do to him. "Why do you like apples so much?"

He snorted in surprise, glancing up at me with those expressive brown eyes that made my heart stutter. I wanted to cover his eyes sometimes, because it was an unfair advantage that I didn't like him holding over me. "I dunno. They're the best tasting, readily available food in the Glade."

"Because you're in the Garden so much?" I deducted, and he shrugged a shoulder. "You know, I think there's a joke to be had somewhere in here about that scientist who was thumped on the head by an apple."

Newt began to crumble his apple into bits, tossing them into his _mush_ , as he so lovingly called it, and he paused to scrunch his eyebrows at me. "What are you on about now?"

I smirked and scoffed at him. "You know? The scientist. The one who was sitting under an apple tree, and it fell on him and hit his head."

"The tree?"

"An apple!" I nudged his shoulder, "Stop being smart, it's starting to lose its charm."

 _Liar._

Shut up!

He frowned, stirring the apple into the mush before taking a bite. "Jill, I've honestly got no clue what you're talking about."

I stared at him for a few moments and realized he seriously didn't know what I meant, and then I quickly looked away as I realized that this is another one of those moments where I randomly remember useless bits of trivia.

"Sir Isaac Newton," I began, and he quickly interrupted me.

"Well I'm not sure what my full name is, but I sure as shuck hope _that_ ain't it."

"Would you be quiet," I grinned, reaching over to push him gently, and he smirked back at me and mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. " _As I was saying_ ," I started again, peering at his smug face from the corner of my eye. "One young Sir Isaac Newton was sitting under an apple tree in his orchard one afternoon, as the story goes, and he dozed off. An apple fell from the tree, thumped his head, and woke him up. And that's how he miraculously thought of the Universal Law of Gravitation."

Newt stared at me blankly for a few moments, his spoon of oatmeal hanging under his mouth and spilling bits back into the bowl. I shifted and almost spoke, but he beat me to it. "That's the biggest load of rubbish I've ever heard!"

"Yeah?" I asked, wielding my spoon at his face. "Keep it up. I'll call you Newton."

"Ugh," He sneered, "What an awful name!" I smirked crookedly and took a bite of my oatmeal without another word. He jammed his spoon into his bowl and stirred thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to me. "How'd you think of that, anyways?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, taking another bite of oatmeal and chewing a bit of apple as I mulled it over. "Sometimes I can remember random things like that." His eyes slid to me, and I shifted as I shook my head. "No, it's not even like I'm remembering it. It's like I've just _known_ it all along but I know I shouldn't have because no one else ever seems to, so I classify it as a memory even though… I think… it was just learned." I looked back at Newt and tilted my head, squinting slightly. "Does that make any sense at all?"

"No," He shook his head without missing a beat, and I looked down, dejected. "But it's actually pretty cool. Count yourself lucky there, greenie." I looked up with a smile on my face as he scraped the last of his oatmeal from his bowl.

"Are you saying you think I'm cool?" I teased, and he choked slightly on his bite.

"Sure, Jill." He smirked, eliciting a pout from me. "You're _cool._ "

My face heated up and he giggled mercilessly as I reached out to swat him, and he clutched his arm as if it hurt. A moment passed where we both settled, and Newt propped his chin on his hand. "This reminds me: We need to go talk to Alby at some point today."

Immediately, my good mood dipped. "About what?"

"Well, what you can remember, for one."

"Should I tell him?" I quickly asked before he could go on. Newt's mouth clamped shut and he looked at me with his eyebrows raised.

"…I don't see why not," He shrugged. "It's not anythin' _bad_." He said meaningfully, and I pressed my lips together in understanding.

"You're right." I resolved, pushing my oatmeal away. "What else?"

"He's also going to want to talk about Jack." He said carefully, watching my reaction closely.

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose, my eyes sliding closed as I thought of my brother. "Does it make me awful if I hadn't thought about him all morning?"

"No, I don't think so," Newt's voice was surprisingly high and a bit too quick to answer. I looked back at his face, and he seemed to be trying really hard to convince me. "You're not a bad person, Jill. What he… Jack put his life at risk—and _yours_." He added, his eyes darkening. "It was reckless. And besides that, you suspect he's not being totally honest with you… I reckon you've earned the right to be a bit miffed at him."

Some kind of weight was lifted from my chest at that point, one that had been dragging me down since Jack approached me at the pig's pen yesterday. Another urge to take Newt's hand struck me, so I laced my fingers together and hid them under the table. "You're right." I nodded, and Newt raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I am." He cockily agreed, and I teasingly narrowed my eyes at him. "Right then, if you're finished we've got work to do," He smirked, and I sighed.

"Please don't ask me to cut open another animal." Absentmindedly, I ran my fingertips over the pads of my palm and the crooks of my fingers, which had blistered from yesterday's work. I couldn't imagine doing any heavy lifting today.

"Nope, I think we'll go ahead and go straight for the Garden today." Newt threw an arm over my shoulder and led me down the field, directly towards the orchards.

"Really?" I asked, excitement barely concealed in my voice. Newt squeezed my shoulder and nodded.

"It's not gonna be as fun as you think, I think." He warned, and I couldn't help but feel amused at the way he phrased things. "There's still heavy lifting."

I ran a finger over my blisters again. "Great," I grumbled, my tone severely less enthusiastic than before.

He threw his head back and laughed, and as we approached the gardens, a boy with black hair and features that seemed to sag was already coated in a slick layer of sweat. Everything about him was drooping—from his long face to his dark eyes, and he seemed almost bored with his job. This does not bode well. Perhaps Gardening _isn't_ for me.

"Zart," Newt chirped, his arm sliding off my shoulders. "This here's greenie part one, Jill," I sent him a scathing glare for that description as he clapped my back. Though, secretly I was happy to have been labeled as _part one_ and not part two.

"I've heard a lot about you," Zart's hand extended towards me and I had to blink through my surprise for a moment. He's been the most pleasant Glader I've met so far, besides Newt of course. His words ran through my head again, and I wasn't quick enough to keep the scowl from my face as I reached up to shake his hand.

"Whatever you've heard probably isn't true." I flatly said, and Newt smiled at him awkwardly for me.

"You're not a girl?" Zart's eyebrows rose, and I choked slightly, and Newt howled with laughter.

"All right, maybe it is true, then." I managed through my embarrassment, and Zart's non-expressive face sighed. Newt squeezed my shoulder and sent me a very amused look, and I struggled not to smile back at him.

"I figured that," He said slowly, and it was like he moved through molasses just to live. "Well, since it's your first time you can set the rows." I followed Zart's finger to where a raised row of earth had already been dug, and a shovel was waiting. My jaw clenched. "I heard you're good with shovels," Zart slyly commented, and I felt my eyes widen at his crass humor.

Newt laughed again, taking the tension right out of the situation, and I sighed. "People suck." I frowned, sending Newt into another round of snickers, which made it difficult for me to maintain my scowl. I shoved him and he shoved me right back, and that finally earned him a smirk.

"Come on, green. Kinda hard to mess up digging a hole." His words did little to reassure me, given the experience I had with a shovel yesterday, but I followed him nonetheless. He led me over to the raised row of soil, and I tried to locate a single hole in the entire plot, but came up empty.

"What holes?" I dryly commented, and he ran a hand thoughtfully over his mouth.

"No matter," He lightly dismissed, pacing up and down the row and trying to figure out what we were supposed to do, exactly. "Seems that we're planting some sort of melon."

"What?" I frowned, looking down at the fresh dirt that was lighter than the rest of the soil around it. "How could you possibly know that?"

Newt sent me _a look_ , an expression I was quickly becoming familiar with, so I clamped my mouth shut. "Right. I'll get the barrel, you start with the next row."

He abruptly turned on his heels, and I panicked and scrambled forward to grab his arm. Newt raised his eyebrows at looked back at me, and I glanced slightly frantically between him and the soil.

"Wait—what? How do I get the soil to raise like that? How deep do I make it? Or is it how _high_ do I make it? Where do I get the soil from? Why do we need a barrel?"

Newt reached out and gripped me by the shoulders, and my mind flashed back to my dream, and I stopped myself just before I flinched at the memory. He spoke slowly, pronouncing each word carefully around his accent. "You take that shovel, and dig up the ground. Break up the soil and pack it into a row. Make it as long and as _high_ as the one that's already been done. I'll be back with the barrel, and then I'll help you." He squeezed my shoulders, his eyes softening for a moment. "Jill, you're fine. You've got this."

My mouth guppied as I looked between him and the row of soil again, and I hesitated. "Well… when you put it like that…" He smiled and patted my shoulders before turning to leave. I watched him for a moment, noting his limp with a sort of sadness and depth that I wasn't aware of before last night, and quickly looked away before my stare became too creepy.

I sighed and put my hands on my hips, facing the soil. Slowly pacing up and down the row that's been done, I inspected the way they seemed to have broken it up, and how it was packed, and hesitantly gripped the shovel between my hands. The blisters twinged in protest and I quickly realized that this would probably become quite painful very shortly, but there was nothing to be done for it, so I cut my losses and began.

About twenty minutes into it, my blisters had doubled in size, and the row I made looked _way_ more sloppy than the one that'd been done. I turned as I heard the squeaky wheel of the barrel approaching me and recognized it to be one of the ones I was packing with manure yesterday. Sighing, I brought a nervous thumb up to my mouth and ran it anxiously over my lips, shifting on my feet and waiting for Newt to catch a glimpse of the shaky work I had somehow completed.

His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was hanging open slightly, and his brown eyes flickered over to my tense form. He wheeled to a stop beside me and we looked at the two completely different rows in silence, letting them speak for themselves.

The one on the left had light soil that seemed like it was sifted straight out of the heavens and dropped in a neat, angular row and sat atop the ground—ready for some melons. Mine, of course, was crooked, and filled more in some places than in others. There wasn't much grass in the area they'd picked out, but somehow my clumpy row was riddled with the blasted vegetation, and I nervously glanced back at Newt's gaping face.

"Start again then?"

"Yeah." He quickly said, and we both dissolved into laughter. I leaned on his shoulder, I was laughing so hard at the piss-poor job I'd done, and Newt pointed at one part. "Holy shuck, look at that! It would be impressive if it wasn't so bloody sad."

"You see?" I gasped, trying to get myself under control. "I'm a mess when you leave me."

"You're god damn bloody right," His voice was laced with stuttering laughter that caused his voice to break again, and it was impossible not to laugh with him. He threw an arm over my shoulder and tugged me into a good-natured half-hug, which surprised me, but I returned it without thinking. "Right then, let's just… scrap it and start again. We should actually move about two feet to the left." He pointed to where he meant, and I dropped my arm from his waist.

"What if it had been the most beautiful row of soil you've ever seen?" I looked up at him with thinly-veiled annoyance. "Would it still need to move two feet to the left? Would you have made me start again?"

"Yeah," He snorted, nodding his head unapologetically. I punched his shoulder and stepped towards the row, and he began to tell me how to set about fixing the mess I'd made.

About forty-five minutes into our work—and by our work I mean Newt's labor and my _very_ useful critique—Newt paused from getting a shovelful of manure and called my name.

My head snapped up and I quickly clenched my throbbing palms shut, and he jerked a chin at me, panting slightly, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the day and the work he was doing. "What's wrong with your hands?"

"What?" I lightly chirped, hiding my fists behind my backs. "Nothing."

"Really?" He deadpanned, unconvinced. I pursed my lips and nodded without looking at him, and he dropped his shovel to the ground and started purposefully towards me. I sidestepped his route, a _dead_ giveaway, and he paused and gave me a meaningful glare. "Jill. What are you hiding?"

Sighing, I found it impossible to look at his face as I shamefully lifted my hands so he could see them. "It's not a big deal," I started, and he cursed as he quickly strode towards me, taking my hands in his.

"No wonder you're not helping!" He ground out, and I tried to jerk my hands away, but he held steadfast. "Jill, why didn't you ask for some bloody gloves?"

I shrugged weakly. "No one was around." I said, and he shook his head at me.

"I should take you to get these wrapped and cleaned." He grumbled, and I quickly turned my hands over to grip his (not the smartest idea, but I was careful not to let on how much that hurt.)

"No," I insisted, looking towards the small field he'd sown, which was actually almost done. "There's not much left to do here. You should finish, and then we can break for lunch."

He watched me, mulling over his options, before finally pressing his lips together in a begrudging fashion. I smiled triumphantly, "…Fine," He spat, carefully letting go of my hands and shaking his head at me. "But say something next time, would you? You've got nothing to prove. You're only hurting yourself…"

I smirked at him and nudged his arm playfully. "Geez, Newt. If I didn't know better I'd say you're worried about me!"

"Worried," He scoffed, and looked away as his cheeks actually dusted pink. "'Course I'm _worried_ , you git! Your hands are basically bleedin'. Shuckin' idiot, that's what you are," He wagged a finger at me and I hid a smile behind my hand, which made him press his lips together tightly to fight back his own smirk. "Shuckin' idiot." He said again before turning away.

"Hey, guys," Said a Glader that I didn't recognize. He had brown hair and a patchy mustache that did _not_ look good. "Alby wants to see you."

I turned to look back at Newt, and he sighed and threw his shovel down.

* * *

 ** _So, this chapter is filled with tons of character building and fluff, but I REGRET NOTHING. Next chapter will be the one you guys are probably waiting for. They'll talk to Alby, and discuss what Jack's fate is. I suspect Jill will come into contact with her brother at some point..._**

 ** _What'd you think? Did you like the beginning of the chapter? How about that dream? Or Jill's sloppy gardening? Will she ever find somewhere she fits, or just have to make due somewhere? What do you think will happen in this meeting they've been avoiding?_**

 _ **So many questions... so few answers. Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows, and as always, don't forget to drop me a quick note on your thoughts! The more reviews I get, the more I'm motivated to update. Be warned though, it's midterm week in my college, so I dunno how often I'll be able to update after this...**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**My people have spoken! There's been a request for more Jack/Jill interaction :) As such, this chapter should sate your thirst quite well..**_

 _ **Something to keep in mind as you continue with this chapter -**_

 _ ****IMPORTANT*** Passages written in italicized font are indicative of the being in the past. _Passages written like this are not. _ **** It'll make more sense as you read on.**_

 _ **If you're confused you can send me a quick message and I'll clarify, but it should be pretty obvious what I'm talking about when you read it.**_

* * *

Everybody has someone they love unconditionally. You do; they just popped in your head. A brother, a sister, a parent or a relative…

I have a twin, and that means a lot of things. It means on my birthday, someone else helps me to blow out my candles. It means that I shared a room for five years longer than most siblings—not because we had to, but because splitting us up was futile. It means when I'm in trouble, I'm never in trouble alone. He jumps, I jump. He cries, I cry. He makes a stupid decision and I take responsibility. And if all else fails, I'll do something equally as stupid to ensure that we're together, so that we are _never_ apart.

It's more than blood; it's a bond that transcends logic.

That person you thought of? You can think of what they say their favorite drink is, can't you? Now, you can think of what it _really_ is. There's a song that you can't hear on the radio without thinking of them. You know if they hate to eat healthy, and you know that they love Chinese food.

When they're "on a diet" you know that means they're really just cutting out candy or soda. When you watch a movie or a show, you can't help but compare the characters' experiences to the adventures you've shared with them. You know what they like to study and what they don't.

You know their hopes and dreams; you know that their plans for the future somehow involve you because yours involves them … you know how they'll react to a situation. You're able to _literally_ finish each other's thoughts—even if the other one never started their thought aloud. Some would call that reading minds, you two call it being on the same page.

Now, imagine all of that's been stolen from you. Taken. Wiped clean. Cleared away. An entire lifetime. All your memories—everything that makes that person who they are? Gone. It's not _diet coke_ _and Coldplay_ that defines them anymore, simply the feeling and the love that you have for them. It's not the inside jokes, or even the memories that you share, but the way you can tell if they've entered a room without having to look. Or the way you can tell what they're thinking from the expression on their face or how they're standing.

I miss Jack so much, it makes it hard for me to breathe, and I hate myself for having forgotten that.

"I'm sorry, Jill. The decision's been made." Gally said, his mouth pinched in a decidedly unapologetic sneer.

"Let me _inside_ , you _pompous slinthead_!" I seethed, trying to step around him.

"I can't do that!" He pushed me back by my shoulder, and I roared in frustration.

"This is a load of _klunk_!" I screamed, hoping that the others inside the Homestead would hear. Using Gally as leverage, I leaned over his shoulder and yelled directly into the doorway, fighting him as he tried to push me back. "You're making a huge mistake! _Please,_ don't do this! Let me in, let me talk to you! Maybe we can think of—" Gally pushed his hands into my stomach so hard that it stole the breath from me and sent me sprawling onto the hard dirt below, the sudden glare of the sun making my eyes water.

Yeah, it's the sun making my eyes water. Nothing else.

Before I had the chance to get up, the door opened behind Gally, and Newt stepped out. He gave Gally a withering look, which made me wonder if he was supposed to be 'guarding' the door at all, and then when Newt's eyes landed on me where I was on the ground, his jaw clenched briefly before he finally softened. I swiped hastily at the tears pooling in my eyes, looking up at him with my breath stilled in my throat.

"Jill," Newt jerked his chin at me. "Come on—"

I gasped and pushed myself off the ground before he'd even finished the sentence, making sure to clip Gally's shoulder with mine on the way in.

Let me back up a minute, because you're probably very confused… This all started when that Glader came to summon Newt and I to speak with Alby.

* * *

 _"_ _Hey, guys," Said a Glader that I didn't recognize. He had brown hair and a patchy mustache that did not look good. What hair he didn't have on his lip was filled in with sweat, and I had trouble focusing on where he looked because it was honestly pretty disgusting. Puberty hadn't been kind to him. For what it's worth, his rather large eyeballs were focused on Newt. "Alby wants to see you."_

 _I turned to look back at Newt, and he sighed and threw his shovel down. I started to brush my hands off but thought better of it at the last moment, ever mindful of the blisters on my hands._

 _I waited until Newt had caught up to me before I started walking. "No," The Glader said, his hand out as if to stop me. "Not you. Just him."_

 _I looked back at Newt with wide eyes. "What?" I frowned, looking between them. "No. This is about Jack, right?" The Glader's eyebrow shot up almost defiantly. "Well, then it's about me, too!"_

 _"_ _Are you his girlfriend or somethin'?" I gawked at him and Newt outwardly cringed at the oblivious Glader's mistake. Slowly, rage boiled in my stomach, and I didn't even try to stop my hands from forming fists now._

 _"_ _I'm his_ twin _, you shucking jacked—" Something happened in that moment. Caught in my outrage, I almost didn't register my own retort. But then I did, and the meaning of what I'd just said sank in. Jack's my twin. He's my_ brother, _and he's in trouble! They're having some sort of meeting about what to do about him! We're stuck in a shucking box in the middle of a maze, and these klunkheads are deciding what_ to do with him _and I'm standing idly by! Newt put a calming hand on my shoulder and stepped in front of me, blocking my view, and I almost tried to shove past him but decided the stupid boy wasn't worth it. Newt's brown eyes caught mine as he leaned down slightly and took me by the shoulders, a gesture I was quickly identifying as Newt's fastest way he knew to calm me._

 _"_ _Jill, it's all right." He shook his head slightly. "Ignore that idiot. I'll talk to Alby, okay? It'll all be fine."_

 _I wanted to believe him. I did. But… "He broke one of the rules, Newt," I said, allowing some of my vulnerability to creep into my voice so he could see how much I was really scared. "You're telling me Alby's just going to let that slide?"_

 _Newt glanced away from me and sighed. "I'll do what I can to… to help Jack." I shifted on my feet and brought my hands up to my hair, the urge to pull it out almost overwhelming. It's not good enough. I knew that Newt's word wouldn't be good enough, and apparently I wouldn't be able to plead his case for him—I was quickly running out of options._

 _"_ _How could I have missed this?" I closed my eyes and tried to stifle the guilt that was clawing its way up my heart. "How could I have just—left him in that—where is he, even? No one's told me! I don't even know where he's at, oh my god, what's_ wrong _with me? He would never—never just—leave me to—" I broke off, hunching over to try and catch my breath, and Newt slid his arms under mine, wordlessly offering me something to lean on. I was so mad at myself, so disgusted with how casually I'd dismissed Jack's situation._

 _What happened? I was so scared that he wouldn't make it out of the maze alive that when he finally did I disregarded all consequences that might've followed him back? I haven't let myself think about it, because why? Because I've been_ mad at him _? What!_

 _"_ _Jill, calm down! Jack is fine. He's with Alby right now, I'm guessing," Newt tried to get me to focus on his face, but I was everywhere._

 _"_ _Is that supposed to_ comfort _me?" I snapped, unable to keep my mind from flashing through all the horrible scenarios that Jack could suffer because of his poor decision-making. "Alby's got a responsibility to the Glade, not to my brother, and if you think he'll see it any other way—you're—you're more blind than I thought—"_

 _"_ Hey _!" Newt suddenly broke in. "You think I don't know what I'm doing? If you recall, I've been here for_ seven _bloody months—I think I know how to handle a situation like this! You think this is the first time that someone's run into the Glade without being a Runner? Jill, it's a_ rule _. Think about that! There are only three of them! "_

 _Newt's sudden change in tone knocked me into place, and my mouth clamped shut as my words caught up with me. "No, Newt." I managed, and he straightened up and blinked at me in disbelief. It seemed like I'd offended him, and I tried to bring myself to regret my words or to shut up, but it's like I couldn't. "No. You_ don't _understand. How could you possibly understand? You don't remember anything from your life, do you? None of you can remember anything! But guess what? I can! I can remember Jack, I love Jack, I—I… No! You couldn't_ possibly _understand what I'm going through, okay? Just… don't let them burn him at the stake, okay?" And with that, I pushed away from his arms and stomped off in the opposite direction._

 _I don't know why I was lashing out at Newt. All I know is that I've forgotten what's most important—my brother, and that started happening as soon as I latched onto Newt. Sure, my brother might've been the cause since he basically ditched me after we got here, but that doesn't mean that I should've forgotten my loyalty to him._

 _Buried way down deep where I live, down in the depths of my heart and locked away in some small box, the truth is hidden. The truth that can acknowledge that it scares me how easily I seemed to let Jack go when Newt came into the picture. But that thought was too scary, too ugly and overwhelming and it bred more questions—questions I didn't want the answers to—so I pushed it away and settled for being angry with the entire Glade for trying to persecute Jack for_ one _stupid mistake. I took that feeling and I hid it down where no one would ever find it, and I locked it up and pretended it didn't exist._

 _"_ _Jill!" Newt's voice broke through my thoughts and I grudgingly came to a stop, looking back at him. His bronze, blonde hair had fallen into his eyes and I told myself that_ no _, that doesn't make me feel anything! "The pit is this way." He gestured back to the Homestead, where he was going to be headed to. Where Jack was supposedly being kept, when he wasn't being interrogated by Alby._

 _Okay. Interrogated might be a tad melodramatic._

 _I sighed and changed course to walk with Newt. The Glader from before had disappeared, probably sometime during my little melt down, so it was just Newt and I—and the awkward silence that lingered between us on our way out of the Gardens._

 _I sighed and Newt slid a glance at me from the corner of his eye._

 _"_ _I'm really going to try, you know. Jack didn't go into the maze with anything but pure intentions, and I think Alby knows that." He suddenly spoke, and that made it really hard not to acknowledge the urge to confide in him. Damnit, can't he see how hard I'm trying_ not _to like him right now? He needs to stop being so bloody great! It's ruining it!_

 _Against my will, my mind flashed over everything Newt's done for me. How kind he's been. How often he's stood by me, even when it seemed like my own flesh and blood had dismissed me. I reached out and took his hand before I could stop myself, catching him by surprise. He looked down at them with slightly widened eyes and I fought not to smile at that expression. Okay, I'm heading in the wrong direction here—I need to tell him to try as hard as he can. Jack is the goal here. Focus. "I've never put anyone before my brother, you know?" Hm. Close enough. Right?_

 _Newt's eyes were wide; torn and a bit surprised. "Of course not," He frowned, gripping my hand. "I would never ask you to do that."_

 _Ah, crap. My cheeks heated and suddenly holding his hand was too intimate. I let go of it and turned away slightly, needing to be able to breath clearly without Newt there to muddle my thoughts. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced this next part out through my tight throat, fighting the burn in my eyes. "He's everything to me, Newt. If I don't have him…"_

 _A silence fell over us, in which the meaning of my words made themselves perfectly clear to Newt. I didn't see it, and I'd never know, but Newt's hand hovered over my shoulder briefly. Finally, his hand clenched into a fist and he pulled it away. "I know," he murmured, and when I turned around he had disappeared into the Homestead._

 _I took a deep breath and pushed my shaking fingers into my hair. What have they decided? What have they discussed? What are the chances that they'd forgive him? What are the chances that he'd come out of this no worse for wear?_

 _I turned and rubbed at my nose, ignoring the stares of any lingering Gladers as I crept around the side of the Homestead. Partly because I thought maybe I could find a window to listen into the meeting, but also partly because I was looking for the pit. Looking for Jack._

 _Just around the front of the Homestead, there was a thicket of trees. I wove myself into them and strained my ears for voices, hoping I could catch something through the thick walls made of sticks._

 _The thought of being caught always lingered in my mind, but I weighed that consequence against the perks of knowing exactly what I was dealing with and I continued on… So take that as you will._

 _The Homestead was bigger than I anticipated. I knew that around the other side was where the hammocks were set up—that's where I slept. I also knew that some part of it was designated for beds, for the 'privileged' as Newt phrased it. And finally, I knew that somewhere in here, mixed in with the Med-Jack's rooms and the kitchens, there was a place that a meeting was being held._

 _Somewhere, my brother's fate was being decided. So I continued on, around the side of the Homestead, and tried to locate that acoustic sweet spot that would lend me a helping ear. There was one part of the wall where the ground seemed to dip. Curious, I approached that part, and just as I thought I could hear voices something in my peripheral vision caught my attention._

 _Dug into the ground, deep into the earth, there were pits. And over those pits were literal cages that sticks formed—having been built into the ground around the holes and equipped with handmade wooden latches, it was obvious to me what I had just stumbled across._

 _These are the pits. This is where Jack's been kept since he returned from the maze, where he was being withheld from food and companionship. Has he wondered where I was? Has he been wishing for my company?_

 _I imagined being in his place, and I knew that the answer was a firm_ yes _. I also knew that I needed to speak to him, to see for myself that he's okay. I came out from around the side of the Homestead, stepping up to one of the cages that was propped open._

 _Inside was empty. The dirt was mussed in some areas, suggesting that it'd recently been disturbed by something. Or someone. Jack, I presume. I ran my hand along one of the sticks that served as a bar to his temporary cage and felt anger and resentment growing inside me._

 _How dare they? How dare they throw my brother into a cage like no more than a common animal? How dare they discuss his fate like he was a dangerous criminal that needed to be_ dealt with _and not simply a boy who was trying to fix his sister's mistakes? Or, someone who wanted to prove himself to them, at the worst._

 _I'm not saying Jack's actions were their fault. But he certainly doesn't deserve to be treated like this. He didn't hurt anyone. He never put someone else in danger—if I was ever in danger it was because of my own conscious decisions. I'm the only Glader here who would've followed him into the maze. So really, if I had gone with him I'd be in the cage right next to his, and they'd be having an entirely different discussion._

 _I wondered what they thought they should do, anyways. What did Gally propose they do? Make an example of him? How, exactly? What punishment do they typically dole out for something like this?_

 _"_ _Jill?" Jack's voice made me jump because it came from right behind me, and I almost lost balance and fell into the cage. But I caught myself at the last minute and turned to see him being escorted back to the pit by two Gladers._

 _Jack's appearance surprised me. Under his eyes were dark smudges, and an insincere smile was tugging at his mouth, and it was obvious that he was trying to make the situation seem better than it was. I mean, he was being flanked by two guards for pete's sake! He's acting like he was taking an afternoon stroll with some pals._

 _All in all, he didn't_ look _like a prisoner. I mean, his cheeks were still tinted that natural, healthy shade of pink he was gifted with. His skin still held that golden tan. His hair, somehow, didn't look greasy. It was as tousled and messy as ever, but not in a manner than suggested imprisonment. His clothes had dirt on them—and they were soaked with sweat, to be sure, but not in any way that was different from every other person here. Including me._

 _In fact, it seemed like incarceration was suiting him well. Which led me to wonder how bad off he really was if he looked so…_ normal _?_

 _"_ _Move," commanded one of the rather large boys next to my brother. I sent him a dirty look but wordlessly stepped aside, nonetheless. It seemed like I was incapable of speaking._

 _My mind, of course, was flooded with questions. How is he? Have they decided what to do? What did Alby say? What has Newt said so far? Are the rest of the Gladers on his side? Did he tell them he didn't do it to hurt anyone? Do they know he was trying to help me? Do they know he returned the pig? Did the pig even matter to them?_

 _"_ _I've been worried about you," Jack said as soon as the other two had closed him up in the pit, and I nearly stepped on their feet to get past them so I could get as close to Jack as possible. My gut twisting with emotion, I choked out a watery laugh._

 _"_ _Me? What are you talking about?" I looked over him again and it's like my silent thought passed between us._ You're essentially in prison, Jack. _Prison!_

 _"_ _You were so angry, I…" He looked down, his face somber. "I want to apologize. I never meant to scare you like that, Jill, you know I wouldn't do that to you—"_

 _"_ _I know, I know," I said, reaching up to grip one of the bars. "You don't have to justify yourself. Not to me."_

 _"_ _You're the only one who matters," He shook his head, and I felt like my heart had been ripped open as he reached up to cover my hand with his. "I'm so sorry, Jill."_

 _"_ _Stop apologizing!" I tried to squelch the guilt that reared its ugly head inside me, and Jack smirked at me._

 _"_ _I will when you accept it."_

 _"_ _I forgave you the second you stepped back into the Glade in one piece." I glared at him, and his smirk grew._

 _"_ _I brought that pig back, you know." He bragged, and I rolled my eyes._

 _"_ _Screw the pig, Jack."_

 _"_ _Jill, that's disgusting—"_

 _"_ _Oh my God! Shut up," I smacked his hand and he laughed, and for a moment I was able to forget what situation we were in. But that didn't last long, as the bars to his cage came back into focus. I sighed and shifted. "What are they saying?"_

 _Jack looked down and took a deep breath. "Nothing I don't deserve."_

 _He's so good; it really ticks me off sometimes. This is what I meant every time I compared him to the sun, every time I described him as being golden. Some young part of me spoke up then, wanting to breathe some life back into my brother, so I used the best the best method I knew how. I boosted his ego a bit. "You should've heard the others when you left… they're saying they've never seen someone run so fast." I quickly realized maybe this was the wrong thing to say. His eyes lit up, and I know the way he thinks, so I know he immediately hoped Alby and the others had heard it, so that they might consider him to be a Runner. Thus, I rectified my mistake. "I never want you to go back in that maze, Jack." I put as much passion and anger into that statement as I could._

 _It had the desired effect. He put on that expression of his, like he was about to deliver horrible news to me, which I translated into his about to list all the reasons he should be a Runner, and I found myself letting go of the bars. He paused, taking in my stance, and saw something in my face. Or maybe in the way I was gearing up for battle, because he quickly switched tactics. "Where've you been?"_

 _"_ _Me?" I said, caught off guard. "I've been… working," I frowned, confused slightly. "S-Same as you, I guess."_

 _"_ _I miss you." He said, as if it was_ my _fault we hadn't kept in touch better._

 _"_ _Really?" I deadpanned, my mind flashing back to the morning he'd brushed me off. "Coulda fooled me."_

 _"_ _You're making friends, right?" He ignored that last comment, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by me. I sighed, for the zillionth time since coming to speak with him._

 _"_ _A few." I might be dressing up the truth a bit. Truth is, as you know, I've made_ one _friend. One great friend, but still._

 _Jack nodded, satisfied. "Good, then. I forgive you."_

 _I scoffed. "You do know that this works both ways, right?" I said, motioning between us. "I'm not the only one who has to approach you."_

 _"_ _I've been busy," He tried._

 _"_ _What am I?" I used our signature phrase, which be both knew to meant_ shut the hell up, you're wrong and you know it. _"I've been working just as hard as you!"_

 _"_ _It's different." He tried to wave me off, and that ruffled my feathers even more._

 _"_ _What the klunk are you talking about?"_

 _"_ _I'm trying to save us, Jill! You're…"_

 _"_ _Go ahead." I dared him, my tone dipping venomously. "Finish that thought."_

 _Jack sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't want to fight with you, Jill."_

 _"_ _Then stop pretending that you're on some—holy mission from God." I spat, looking him over like he should be ashamed. And he should! "I've been stuck in here, having a miserable time. Same as you. Same as everyone here! So stop acting like you somehow know more than me, or anyone else in the Glade." Jack looked at his feet, and at first I read that as a chastised reflex. But then I thought, maybe… "You_ don't _know anything… right?"_

 _Jack quickly looked up at me, a frown marring his familiar face. "What? No! You sound like Gally."_

 _I raised an eyebrow. "Gally thinks you can remember things?" He's noticed too?_

 _"_ _Well," Jack glanced away. "He's never outrightly said that. But he's definitely hinted at it. He keeps telling Alby that I'm here with 'an agenda'."_

 _"_ _And that includes, what? Chasing a pig into the maze?" I scoffed, and Jack burst into relieved laughter._

 _"_ _Exactly! What kind of plan is that? Thank you! You're the first person who's seen it just like me. How ridiculous does it sound, anyways?" He sighed and shook his head, looking at his feet again. "I didn't plan to go into the maze so soon."_

 _And I believed him. I believed him, because that was his roundabout way of admitting that he_ did _plan to go into the maze—eventually. But not like that, and not so soon. "What was it like?" I asked, and finally—I guess I had asked him the right question._

 _He lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, standing a little taller, as if the memory breathed new life into him. The trick I'd been trying to do finally paid off. "It was… amazing, Jill," He crept closer to me and pressed his face against the bars, lowering his voice. "It's so dark out there. I don't know how it's so dark!"_

 _"_ _Are the walls as tall out there as they are in here?"_

 _"_ _Taller, I think." His eyes unfocused as he seemed to be remembering. "The whole time I was out there, I kept thinking—'what if a Griever hears this pig? What if I'm carrying the stupid thing back, and a Griever comes to check out what the shuck is happening?'… There was one point when I had it in my arms, after finally cornering it—and I heard something coming down a corner, right next to where I was."_

 _I was on the edge of my seat (metaphorically speaking) hanging of his every word, and somehow I knew this was just like when we were kids. "What was it? Was it a Griever?"_

 _Had he seen one? "That's what I thought! I had my hand clamped over the pig's snout, and it was squirming so much it almost got away again. I—" he broke off, glancing briefly up at me. "I came so close to just killing the damn thing so it would shut up… but it turned out to be Minho."_

 _I sighed, relieved for selfish reasons. Besides the obvious point, I mean—he'd not seen a Griever, and from what I'd heard if he_ had _seen a Griever he'd be dead. But what if he'd seen a Griever and… lived? That would be such a typical Jack move. Then, I think I could understand all the hoopla they're having about these meetings. Then I could understand the dilemma with what to do._

 _"_ _So you didn't see one," I sighed, and Jack shook his head._

 _"_ _Not yet."_

 _I stiffened. "You're not going back out there." I said firmly, and Jack's eye twitched._

 _"_ _If Gally has his way, I might never step out of the pit again. So maybe you're right about that."_

 _"_ _That's what Gally wants?" I asked, leaning forward. "That's insane!"_

 _"_ _Uh…" Jack looked away, and I clenched the bars tightly._

 _"_ _Jack?" I pressed, and he glanced up at me briefly. "What?... What aren't you telling me?"_

 _"_ _It's not important, really—"_

 _"_ _Then just tell me!" I said, dread clouding my thoughts and weighing them down._

 _"_ _I don't think it really matters because Alby will never let it happen anyway!"_

 _"_ _So tell me what it is! If it's not gonna happen, then there's no harm in telling me!"_

 _"_ _Jill," Jack said, in that tone. "Listen to me—"_

 _"_ _Uggghh," I threw my head back and actually stepped away from the cage, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. "I can't tell you how much I_ _hate it when you say that to me!"_

 _"_ _Well, it's because you're not listening!"_

 _"_ _I'm listening! It's just that what you're saying is bullshit! Tell me!"_

 _"_ _Fine!" He snapped, and I couldn't find it in myself to be smug for winning this argument, or for annoying him the way he'd annoyed me. "Gally wants to send me out into the maze."_

 _"_ _What?" I scoffed, immediately dismissing the thought. "No he doesn't. In fact, that's the_ last _thing Gally wants. You're not a Runner."_

 _"_ _They wouldn't be sending me out there as a Runner."_

 _I blinked dumbly at him. "…Then why would they send you out there?" He kept quiet, and I tried to think of an answer for myself. "If they aren't sending you out there as a Runner that'd be breaking their own rules."_

 _"_ _They would send me out tonight."_

 _"_ _What?" If it was possible, my face scrunched in confusion more. "Why would they do that? The Runners don't even go out at night! They can't, the walls close—"_

 _I froze. Jack watched me wearily, and I waited for him to dismiss the notion. I waited for it, but it never came. He simply watched me, his eyes sad, and I shook my head._

 _"_ _What? Jack, that's ridiculous." He simply looked down. "They can't do that. It's murder! Jack, you've done_ nothing _—nothing to warrant that!"_

 _"_ _Like I said Jill, it's just Gally's overreaction. He's got it out for me, what can I say?"_

 _"_ _You can—you can say—oh," I said, turning away as I realized that there was actually nothing Jack can say. If I want something to be said, I'm talking to the wrong person. "Okay…" I said, striding off purposefully for the front of the Homestead. "Okay."_

 _"_ _Jill," Jack said, but I ignored him, stomping up the hell and straight the guards. "Jill! Stop!"_

 _The guards raised their eyebrows at me, an expression which I returned without hesitation, and one of them scoffed and the other looked away. I took that as submission, and shouldered past them and around the side of the Homestead. The entire time I walked, all I could think about was the fact that Gally was trying to argue having my brother killed. For what? Absolutely nothing!_

 _I planned to march straight into that meeting and tell Alby that he's being ridiculous. Just what kind of show is he running here, anyways? What kind of people would do that to an innocent boy? He's their age! He's my age! He's my_ brother _!_

 _Well, I planned to intrude on the meeting, but I was met with the eyebrows of Gally._

 _"_ _You," I ground out, my voice deep and gritty with anger. I jabbed a finger violently in his direction, and he quickly moved towards the door of the Homestead to block my path. But I wasn't aiming for the Homestead, at least not yet. I was aiming for_ him _."Just what the_ hell _do you think you're doing?"_

 _"_ _I'm protecting the Glade!" He said, and I could practically feel steam coming out of my ears._

 _"_ _You just can't stand it, can you?" I fumed, not stopping until I was practically brushing noses with him. He would try to step back, but I would just match him and get in his face again. "You can't stand having someone like Jack around, because he threatens your position here in the Glade! He's smarter than you, isn't he? He's just as capable as you are, but he's smarter, and Alby likes him more," I'll admit it. I was blindly pushing his buttons, trying to see what would set him off. I was picking a fight._

 _His jaw clenched and he actually snorted at me. "Don't flatter him. He doesn't need it, and no one could take my place. Newsflash, lady: I've been here for way longer than you or your reckless slinthead of a brother has! He put the entire Glade at risk when he decided to—"_

 _"_ _Oh, please!" I spat, not bothering to mask my disgust for the boy in front of me. "If you're in such good standing with the Glade—if Alby respects what you have to say so much, why'd he put you out like a guard dog?"_

 _Gally stiffened and I could tell I'd struck a cord. "I'm out here because I couldn't listen to your boyfriend defend that stupid klunker anymore!"_

 _I staggered back, my mind going blank. "Boyfriend?"_

 _Gally had the gall to cackle at me. "Don't play dumb! It's obvious you're smart, so let's be honest. You've been stuck to Newt's side from the second you got here, and now he's—"_

 _I lashed out without thinking, giving Gally a violently pointed shove right in the chest. The impact stole his air from him and cut his rant to a pathetic end as he staggered back. I tried to take advantage of that and step into the Homestead, but he grabbed me and dragged me back._

 _"_ _Would you_ give it up _," Gally growled, his eyes dancing dangerously with anger and something darker. "There's nothing you can say to them!"_

 _"_ _Why do you want him dead?" I asked, unable to keep the pain from my voice. "What's he ever done to you? Why are you trying to get him killed?"_

 _"_ _It's not about that!" He cried, as if I was insulting him. Well? Good! He should feel ashamed! "He broke a rule! You think he's gonna stop here? You think this is the last time Jack is going to try getting into the maze?"_

 _It was the first argument I'd heard from Gally that gave me pause. I had nothing to say, because I knew he was right. Whether I would ever admit it to him or not, Jack was gonna try and find a way back out there, and it's clear that Gally and I could both see it._

 _"_ _It's not just that he's broken a rule. It's that he clearly intends to go back out there, even if he has to break that rule again. And any other rule in the process." Gally could see he was getting to me. On some level, he was voicing my deepest, darkest fears. Thoughts I'd barely had the chance to have because we'd been here for such a short period of time. "I'm just trying to save everyone a lot of heart ache."_

 _"_ _No, that's not true, is it?" I finally said, and Gally crossed his arms at me and placed himself in front of the door as I spoke. "You still feel threatened by him. No matter how you spin it, Jack is threatening your position, and you can't have that, can you?"_

 _"_ _I'm done justifying myself to you," He simply sneered, not even giving me the respect of looking at me as he said it. I grumbled to myself and tried to step around him._

 _"_ _Fine," I muttered. "I was done with you anyways,"_

 _He pushed his hand into my shoulder when I reached for the door, shaking his head at me. "You can't go in there."_

 _"_ _The hell I can't," I frowned at him incredulously. "Alby's been waiting to talk to me anyways! Just move!"_

 _"_ _Can't do that," Gally shook his head and stood like some sort of statue that'd been tasked with a gallant duty. "No one gets inside while they talk."_

 _"_ _They're talking about my brother's fate," I scolded, as if there was any sort of humanity I could appeal to in this boy. The only thing that suggested what I said chinked his armor were his next words._

 _"_ _I'm sorry, Jill. The decision's been made." Gally said, his mouth pinched in a decidedly unapologetic sneer._

 _"_ _Let me inside, you_ pompous slinthead _!" I seethed, trying to step around him._

 _"_ _I can't do that!" He pushed me back by my shoulder, and I roared in frustration._

 _"_ _This is a load of klunk!" I screamed, hoping that the others inside the Homestead would hear. Using Gally as leverage, I leaned over his shoulder and yelled directly into the doorway, fighting him as he tried to push me back. "You're making a huge mistake! Please, don't do this! Let me in, let me talk to you! Maybe we can think of—" Gally pushed his hands into my stomach so hard that it stole the breath from me and sent me sprawling onto the hard dirt below, the sudden glare of the sun making my eyes water._

 _Yeah, it's the sun making my eyes water. Nothing else._

 _Before I had the chance to get up, the door opened behind Gally, and Newt stepped out. He gave Gally a withering look, which made me wonder if he was supposed to be 'guarding' the door at all, and then when Newt's eyes landed on me where I was on the ground, his jaw clenched briefly before he finally softened. I swiped hastily at the tears pooling in my eyes, looking up at him with my breath stilled in my throat._

 _"_ _Jill," Newt jerked his chin at me. "Come on—"_

 _I gasped and pushed myself off the ground before he'd even finished the sentence, making sure to clip Gally's shoulder with mine on the way in._

* * *

 ** _Ahhh! That's all, folks! :) More to follow shortly. What'd you think? Leave a review! Or follow or favorite, or all of the above, or any combination thereof!_**

 _ **Remember, the happier the author is, the faster the updates. Nothing makes me happier than a review ;D (Thanks for the request, Greenie, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! And you made a lot of good points! If you ever have another suggestion I'm**_ **always _open to them. And that goes for everyone... Oh, and your English is better than mine, Greenie! No worries there :_** **)**


	9. Chapter 9

The meeting was a lot less organized than I'd imagined. I don't know what I was expecting—some sort of court? Some sort of judge and jury? And to a certain degree, there was. Alby is in charge, which made him a sort of judge, if only in the capacity that he had the final say.

I suppose that would make Gally the prosecution. Because, yeah, he followed in after me. At every given chance, I stare at him and try really hard to channel my hatred for him, as if I could set him on fire using my gaze alone.

If Gally is the prosecution, you'll be shocked to find out who the defense is. Or at least, I was. It was Minho. Turns out, Minho and Jack have gotten pretty tight. And I suppose, if there was any Glader to defend my brother, I would want Minho to be it. He just looks strong, you know? Like he's got a capable head on his shoulders. And the others want to listen to him.

We'd been sitting here for what felt like years, debating Jack's fate. It seemed like the conversation was circling. Gally would begin by saying Jack broke a rule. Minho would trivialize the whole thing. Someone from the crowd would either agree or disagree, and then Alby would try to regain control of the meeting. Sometimes, if a particularly provocative comment is made, I'll chime in. But actually it seemed like everyone was trying their best to pretend I wasn't there as they decided whether or not to kill my brother.

"The rules are set for a reason," Gally continued. I shifted testily in my seat and Newt shot me a look of warning from beside me, which I promptly ignored. "We can't just let this slide! This is one of the _three_ rules, Alby! Rules you set to keep us alive! This is a big deal! We can't just sweep it under the rug!"

"We can't exile him for it," Minho said, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard, and I pointed directly at him and nodded. A few murmurs of agreement went over the crowd as well.

"We can't let him get away with it, either," Said one random Keeper in the crowd. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he wasn't even looking my direction.

Alby sighed heavily and sat back, running a thoughtful hand over his jaw.

"Jill."

It was so unexpected to hear someone address me directly; I assumed I'd imagined it. But when everyone turned to look at me I realized that it was real, and that it was Alby who had said my name. I blinked widely at him. "You can't kill him," I blurted, and the others cast their eyes away in sympathy and shame. "He's my brother."

Alby was unimpressed. "Exactly. He's your brother; you know him better than anyone. What do you think?"

Face screwed in confusion and frustration, I glanced around. "…About what?" I thought I'd made my feelings on the matter clear. Gally geared up as if to sneer about me, but Alby cut him off.

"Do you think Jack went into the maze on purpose?"

I tilted my head. There were so many ways to answer that question. "Well…" I threw a wary glance at Newt, whose face was neutral and not the least bit helpful, and shifted in my seat. "Um, yes."

The crowd broke into frenzied murmurs. Newt covered his face with his hand and I sat up and cleared my throat.

"I mean no!"

Minho was shaking his head and Gally seemed to have the most feline smile on his stupid face, like a cat that just ate the canary. The crowd seemed to grow more and more excited.

I nearly stood from my seat. "My brother was—being ridiculous. And stupid. And _reckless_." It was obvious that the boys were beginning to feel uncomfortable as I scolded Jack without him present. Clearly, they were unsure of what to do with my answer.

Before I could continue and make my point, Alby shrugged a shoulder. "Greenie, it sounds like you're making a case to have him pushed out."

" _No!_ I'm not!" I cried, and the others started to shift restlessly around me, like the decision was just made and they were itching to get it over with. I stood and Newt looked up in surprise. "Hey!" I shouted, and a quiet fell over the meeting as they all looked at me. My breathing was loud, my heart racing because I felt like I was losing control, and I'll be _damned_ if I'm the reason Jack is sent out there tonight. "I'm not going to excuse his actions. Or write them off like they don't mean anything, because they do. He could have been killed. If there's anyone in this Glade that knows how stupid what Jack did was, it's me."

They seemed to settle slightly as I continued.

"The truth is, yeah. Jack wants out in that Maze. But honestly I think that's something that all of you can relate to, isn't it? Every Glader here has felt the urge, at some point or another, to go out in the Maze just to see what it's like. To see if they can solve it. But it's more than that for Jack. Jack wants out, and apparently the only way out is through the Maze. We've been here for four days. Honestly, I'm surprised he waited that long," I admitted, and a few of the Keepers chuckled at that. A dry smirk pulled at my lips and I shook my head as I continued. "But that's not why he went out there." Feeling slightly embarrassed, I rolled my eyes to the top of the thatched ceiling as I continued. "It was because I made a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. I let that buggin' piglet run amuck, and it bolted straight into the Maze. Klunker." Another couple laughs. "Most of you don't know what it means to have a brother, or a sister. So let me tell you what it means to us. No matter how ridiculous, or dangerous, or reckless—"

"You forgot stupid," Newt smartly interjected, and I paused to raise an eyebrow down at him, half turning around.

"Or _stupid_ we are, we back each other up. That's what he was doing when he chased that pig into the Maze. Was it on purpose?... Yes. But not for any malicious reason. So, this is me, you know. Backing him up, or whatever." I shifted uncomfortably and the Keepers seemed affected by my words. They looked at each other and then looked down, the air thick with some unnamed emotion. I sighed and Newt winked at me, sitting back in his seat with his arms crossed proudly. "So I should end it there," I awkwardly noted, and the others frowned at my proclamation. Newt frowned up at me and I shuffled my feet. "Yep." And with that, I plopped back into my seat.

Alby scratched his cheek. "All right. I think we've heard enough. Let's vote."

"Wait!" Gally stepped forward and looked at everyone in disgust. "So what? You hear one sappy explanation from a greenie and suddenly everyone can join hands, and everything is roses and sunshine? It doesn't change anything! We've all felt the urge to go into the Maze, true. But that doesn't mean we can just _run_ out there because we _want_ to!"

I started to stand back up, but Newt grabbed my arm.

"Slim it, Gally," Minho snapped, rolling his eyes. He crossed his large arms as if to dare Gally to protest.

And of course, Gally was unfazed. "No!"

"We're putting it to a _vote_ ," Alby said with a finality that even Gally stepped back from. He pointed at me.

"She's gotta go."

I stood from my seat with a shout, and Gally shouted right back.

"I'm not going anywhere, slinthead!"

"You can't be in here when we vote! You're still just a greenie!" He spat, using that term again, like it was an insult or something.

"I'm his _sister_ first!"

"Not in here, you're not," He waved his hand through the air as if to punctuate his point.

I started toward him and Newt grabbed my good wrist and stood to join me.

"He's right," Alby said from his spot below us. I turned to him with wide, disbelieving eyes. He stared back, unsympathetic. "You're not a Keeper. Rules are rules."

I inflated, like a dragon breathing in before it unleashed hellfire, and Newt's grip tightened. I whipped around and came up short at his apologetic expression, my mouth snapping shut. "Sorry, green."

My eyes narrowed. Newt gestured for me to lead the way and I yanked my arm out of his grip. "Fine," I spat, not just to him, but to the whole room. "I'm going." I tried to walk out with my head held high, pretending that the murmurs around me were not happening.

Outside, it was slightly warmer, and the shadows cast across the ground were some degree longer. It seemed that I'd been cooped up in there longer than I realized. I was still geared up, ready to throw a punch or just hit something.

Angrily, I kicked at the ground and sent a spray of dirt over the grass. It earned me a few curious looks, which I ignored as I turned to stomp back over to the pit. The Gladers carried on their duties, and though they would peek over at me occasionally, for the most part they were focusing their nosiness on the pit. You couldn't really see it from here, but I knew they kept looking in its direction.

I swear, these boys are the biggest gossips. I kept my eyes forward as I walked around the side of the Homestead towards the pit.

Jack was lounging back casually, with a long piece of grass between his teeth and his arms behind his head. He bobbed a foot and seemed to be watching the sky for something. The guards had apparently retreated, having decided that Jack wasn't a threat at this moment.

I kicked another clump of dirt at his cage, and he sat up when he saw me. "Hey," He greeted, his eyes flitting beside me, behind me, tilting to look around me. "Where is everyone?" The grass dipped between his teeth.

"Voting," I said, with no small degree of bitterness. Jack plucked the grass from his lips.

"How'd it go?"

I sighed and dropped to the ground beside him, picking up a rock to dig violently into the dirt. "Swell," I sarcastically mumbled, and Jack reached up to grab a bar.

"Jill, seriously. What did they say?"

He looked—not concerned, per se. Just… like a man waiting to hear the verdict. Ready to accept whatever it is I said.

I looked down again, smoothing away the mound of dirt I'd dug up. "Gally wants you out."

"And the others?" He asked, unsurprised.

"Minho was pretty supportive of you." Jack nodded as I continued. I wiped my hands down my capris. "He seems to like you."

"Good." He said, as if it was something he had planned. Like it was exactly what he wanted.

I hesitated at his nonchalance. Shaking it off, I looked down and started to trace patterns in the dirt. "How are you doing?"

He smirked. "Swell."

I snorted and sighed again. "They should be done soon. They kicked me out so they could vote."

"I bet you loved that," Jack knowingly teased, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"What are we going to do?" I suddenly asked, my voice small. Jack looked at me and frowned.

"You're going to be fine, Jill."

"That's not what I asked."

He sighed and looked away. Uncharacteristically, he shrugged. "There's only one thing I can do. Accept whatever it is they think should be done."

I scrunched my face at him. "So what, you're giving up? Just like that?"

Jack's temper visibly flared. "I can't fight them, Jill. What do you expect me to do?"

"Not run out in the bloody Maze, for one!" I snapped, sitting up, and he matched me.

"I didn't have a choice!"

"What?" I scrunched my face at him like it was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard him say. Which, it was.

"You lost the pig!" He shouted, and I threw my hand out.

"And there it is. That's what I've been waiting for."

"What was I supposed to do, Jill? If I hadn't gotten the pig back, they would—" He broke off, looking torn between saying what was on his mind and sparing my feelings.

I scrunched an eye at him. "What? They would what?" He stayed silent. "Hate me? Ignore me?" He looked down. "Yeah. They already do."

"They don't _hate_ you," Jack said with a roll of his eyes.

"No, but losing a week's worth of food to the Maze certainly wouldn't have won me any points, would it?"

"Exactly." He put his finger up smartly and I clenched my teeth. "You're welcome."

"What's worse, Jack? Losing a bit of food? Or breaking one of the three rules?"

He stared at me, uncertain, his finger in the air. I waited to hear his excuse. To hear what he had to say that would justify his choice. But he just stared at me, his finger hovering between us. He sighed.

"Fine," He bitterly relented, and I raised a smug eyebrow, which annoyed him. "Next time I'll let you dig your own grave."

"Next time," I snorted. "There's not going to be a next time."

"You're right about that." Jack finally fell back off his knees and returned to his casual lounging position, reclining back with his feet up and hands behind his head. "They won't let you near the livestock again."

The younger, less mature side of me prodded me then. Before I could swallow the venom, I said, "And they won't let _you_ near the Maze."

Jack was still as my words had exactly the effect that I knew they would. He looked miserable, just at the idea of it. And I realized, in that moment, that _that_ is what he was most afraid of. I sat up, a dread growing in my stomach as I frowned at him.

"You _want_ them to throw you out there!" I suddenly accused, and Jack's head whipped around at me. I hoped to see some sort of outrage, some sort of absolute disgust at the mere suggestion, but he just looked shocked. Violated, even. Like I'd flipped to the most private part of his diary and started reading aloud. "Oh, my God, Jack!"

He looked around in paranoia and forced a scoff. "Don't be ridiculous, Jill."

"No," I continued, my eyes narrowed. Jack pretended to be unaffected by my words and kept his eyes off me as he casually bobbed his foot again. "You want out there so bad, you'd rather be trapped out there than in here!"

He had nothing to say, as he glared over at me.

I couldn't stop. More venom filled my mouth, as anger and indignation swelled inside me. Disbelief, pure, angry disbelief was all I could feel. "Admit it!"

"I have to protect you!" He suddenly snapped, and I clamped my mouth shut and sat back on my butt like I always did when he finally yelled at me. Jack rose to his knees and I hesitated at his anger. "You don't get it, Jill! I made a promise!"

I frowned and shook my head at him, uncomprehending. "What?"

"It's too important," He continued, leaning forward to narrow his eyes at me. "Whatever is out there? Trust me when I say that it's way better than never getting out of here."

"Jack," I said, completely disturbed by this revelation. He looked down at me, and for the first time in days I felt like I was catching a glimpse of what was really going on in his head. Encouraged, I inched forward. "Jack," I whispered. "You have to tell me."

He hesitated. The way he was looking at me, I knew that he was about to break. Finally, I would discover what the hell has him so… distant and determined. He looked back up at me and his eyes flicked over my shoulder.

"Hey," Someone called from behind us. My hand clenched into a fist and I just barely kept myself from snapping at them. I turned to see the Glader who had come to gather Newt and I from the gardens. "What are you doing?"

I looked back at Jack, my eyes wide with anger, and he withdrew, and I knew the moment had passed. I knew trying to reach him would be as useless as trying to grasp a cloud—like trying to capture a rainbow in a jar. Impossible. "Nothing," I muttered, climbing to my feet.

The Glader crossed his arms at me as I dusted my knees off. "You can't leave that garden half-finished."

"I got it," I snapped, and he raised his eyebrows at me, equally annoyed.

The rows I made without Newt were sloppy, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The Glader escorted me here, and proceeded to observe my piss-poor work with his nose in the air. Never once did he offer assistance, advice, or even conversation. I felt like a damn slave, as I pushed my shovel into the soil, trying my damnedest to make the rows even and straight.

The difference was clear. One half of the field was nice, level, and neat. The other half was jagged and clumpy. The soil and manure weren't properly mixed. The spots where I'd planted the seeds were like little funnels of stunted volcanoes. I could only pray that gardening wasn't one of those skills you're supposed to be born with, like singing, or something else that's nearly impossible to teach yourself to do.

It was probably obvious that I had channeled much of my pent-up rage into the task. My hands were an absolute crime scene. The blisters had swelled tenfold, to the point that I hissed each time the air hit them. I could hardly move my fingers. I wondered what this meant for the days to come. Likely, it would be impossible for me to properly perform any sort of laborious chore, and that basically excluded every shucking job in this forsaken Glade.

To say that I was in a sour mood would be the understatement of the century. It was getting close to nightfall, and despite the fact that I paused my work every ten seconds to toss a glance at the Homestead, it was clear that the meeting had run over hours longer than they intended. I speculated what happened when I left. Did Gally start up again? Did Alby change his mind? Was some Keeper unsatisfied? They all seemed to have come to a decision. So what changed?

There was no dinner that night. Nothing was served, because Frypan is a Keeper, and he's in the meeting. Gladers had to settle for food that could be consumed unprepared—such as fruit, and vegetables. I crankily nibbled at an apple, watching the door of the Homestead like a pissed off housecat.

Watching. Waiting. Plotting. Just kidding. I didn't plot… much.

I returned to the space of land I'd butchered, looking it over with growing distaste. Perhaps this job isn't for me. I can't stand how awful I seem to be. Maybe I should just do myself a favor and become a Slicer.

"You know we'll have to do this over tomorrow, don't you?" Newt said from beside me. My first instinct was to snap a witty reply back at him—but then I realized it was _Newt_. Which means he's back. Which means they've voted.

I gasped and grabbed his arm, which surprised him a bit because he stepped back. "Jack," I demanded, and he put his hand up.

"He's fine."

"Are they—" I wanted to know, but was unable to finish the thought, and Newt fixed me with a sympathetic expression that was impossible to decipher. I nearly shook him, until he let loose a small grin and shook his head.

"Oh," I breathed in relief and staggered back, pressing the back of my hand to my forehead. "Oh, God, Newt. Don't scare me like that!"

I punched the side of his arm with the back of my hand and he scratched at his chin. "You need to go see Clint. The bones in your hand are starting to show." He was joking of course. Sort of.

"Fine, what happened when I left?" I asked without missing a beat. Newt sighed but relented.

"We're letting him out of The Slammer, to start."

"That's great!" I exclaimed, bouncing on my heels. "What else?"

He hesitated now, looking at me from the corner of his eye as he went to nudge a particularly lumpy clump of soil in a row I'd done on my own. Newt looked it over with a critical gaze and tutted, shaking his head. "You absolutely wrecked it, you know that?"

"Newt," I lowly said, and he looked back at me. When he saw my face, he sighed.

He looked tired as he said, "Your brother will be working with Gally."

"What?" I snorted, and Newt shrugged. "They'll kill each other!"

"It was the only way."

"No! What about—a Slopper? Or a Slicer? Or—hell, a Bagger, anything but with Gally!"

Newt shook his head. "No, he needs to be kept close."

"Close to who?" I asked, sneering slightly. Newt looked down.

"Jill…"

Finally, I set my chin back. "You don't trust him," I guessed, and the way Newt glanced away told me everything I needed to know. "Well, whose idea was this? Gally's?

"No, he hated it more than your brother will," Newt said, tilting his head slightly. He pressed his lips together and looked at me wryly. "It was Alby's suggestion."

I shook my head. "Why?"

Newt took a breath. "Because… the idea was brought up that your brother would be made a Runner."

I literally barked a laugh, and Newt's sober expression put a cork in me. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "Minho wants him. He said that he'd be fast, and smart. He said that he was quiet, and he's smart. Did you know your brother ran with Minho in the Maze?"

I shrugged a shoulder and shook my head. "He said something about running into him, but he didn't talk about it like it was some big thing."

"Well, Minho thinks he's got what it takes. And we need all the Runners we can get."

Admittedly, I hated this turn of events. The last place I want to see Jack in was the Maze. I clenched my jaw and shrugged again. "So why is he going to work with Gally?"

"Because Gally threw a right fit when Minho said he wanted him. He practically exploded, I'm telling you—you shoulda seen it. His face turned so red, I thought he turned radioactive."

I bit back a smirk at the mental image and frowned. "Of course he did. So what?"

" _So_ , Gally's been trying to get voted in to be a Runner for _weeks_. And you know how he feels about your brother…"

I nodded and looked down. "It must have drove him crazy."

"Alby decided that if Gally was so suspicious of him, he should be the one to keep an eye on him. Then, in a few weeks if nothing happens, we'll revisit the idea of voting Gally or Jack into the Runners."

My eyebrows shot up and I dropped my arms to turn to Newt in shock. "Gally _or_ Jack?"

Newt looked unhappy, but he nodded.

"So what—it's a competition now?"

He shrugged. "We're not calling it that."

"Alby decided this? He's crazy! They'll kill each other!"

Newt snorted and shook his head. "No one will keep Jack in line like Gally will."

I shook my head back. "No, Jack's not going to listen to a thing he says."

"He has to, Gally's the Keeper."

I continued shaking my head, resisting the urge to stomp my foot. "It doesn't matter—Jack—he's…"

It was tough, trying to explain it without making my brother sound like a psychopath. But honestly, Jack will only see working with Gally as a test. Like he needs to outdo him somehow. And now that a position as Runner is at stake? It's… it's a recipe for disaster.

"This is bad," I told Newt, and he nodded.

"But it's better than throwing him in the Maze."

I scrubbed my eyes with my fingers, and when I pulled my hands away I looked at the blisters there. "Where's Jack now?"

"Getting some food, I'd imagine. They've let him out by now."

I gestured towards the Homestead. "Lead the way."

"You just love to order me around, don't you?" Newt teased, looking me over, and I bit back a smirk as he turned to lead the way anyways.

"Or maybe I just depend on you too much," I easily suggested, falling into step with him.

"Oh, you definitely depend on me too much," He agreed, as if it was obvious. I scoffed and smacked his shoulder. "Well I'm not complaining!"

I just laughed, and then caught sight of Jack over near the Homestead. He was sitting at a table with Minho. They both had small bowls of fruit, and were speaking in low voices.

"Jill," Newt said, some distance ahead of me. I hadn't even realized I'd stopped walking. I looked back to Jack.

"Maybe I can talk to him." I looked back at Newt. "I can at least try. Right?"

Newt nodded. "If anyone could do it, you could."

"What am I going to say?" Suddenly, I was somewhat nervous. What if he blows me off? I can just see him acting like it was no big deal…

Newt shrugged at me. "What the bloody hell do I know? I'm not his sister."

I shot him a dirty look and he simply winked at me in mock encouragement. With a heavy sigh, I turned to Jack and Minho and started toward them.

Minho saw me first, since he was sitting on the opposite side of the table. I was struck with the familiar sensation of being shut out as Minho abruptly stopped talking upon spotting me.

"What?" Jack asked, realizing that his friend was distracted by something. He glanced over his shoulder and then brightened when he saw me. "Jill!" He smiled. "Have you eaten?" He patted the seat next to him.

"You're out."

He pursed his lips into a frown. "I am."

Newt and Minho exchanged a confused glance and I scratched my forehead, my hand on my hip as I tried to figure out how to approach this. "Jack… can I talk to you?"

He looked back at Minho and gestured to me, and Minho waved him off. "Let's go, I need to change. I feel _gross_."

He was so lighthearted. As if the last forty-eight hours hadn't even happened. Or the last four days, for that matter. "What happened?" I asked, though I had a basic idea of what must have happened.

"Minho let me out."

"Did he—" _Tell you the bad news._ "What were you guys talking about?"

"Apparently Frypan likes me," He informed me, smiling like he didn't know why. "Go figure."

I sighed and tried not to roll my eyes. "You're pretty chipper for someone who was just held in a cage made of sticks overnight."

"Jill," Jack stopped walking and put his arms out, turning in a circle. "Look around. We're _all_ in a cage."

This time I did roll my eyes. He turned to keep walking towards the Homestead, but up the ramp to where the beds are kept. " _Enough_ , Jack."

He stopped walking to look at me. "What do you want me to say, Jill?"

"I don't know, Jack! The truth?"

"I haven't lied!"

"Just—tell me!"

He paused to look me over. "What happened to your hands?"

I brought them up to rub my face in exasperation, but managed to stop myself in time. It resulted in me looking at my blisters up close and personal.

"Stop dodging the issue."

"No, they look bad, Jill. Are you okay?" He stepped forward to grab at my wrist, and I took the moment to look him in the eye.

"Are _you?"_

He nodded, his jaw clenched as the question, and everything it provoked, ran through his head. "Still processing."

My eyebrows rose. "Gally?"

Jack sighed and stepped away, running a hand through his thick blonde hair. "I _know_ … tell me about it." He seemed to consider something. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

I snorted. He looked back at me, the grin on his face wry. "Maybe."

We knew we were lying to ourselves. "What are the odds of this whole thing being some shucked up dream?"

Tilting my head back and forth, I pretended to count. "Six, carry the one…" I looked back at him. "They're not in our favor."

He nodded. "Comforting."

"You're not going to kill him, right? Because I don't think I can talk them out of kicking you out if you break _two_ of their rules."

Jack snorted and went to throw an arm around my shoulder. "Jilly, Jilly… always got my back."

I sighed and shook my head. "What can I say? We're a package deal…"

* * *

 _ **So Gally and Jack will be forced to work together!? My, my, my... what drama will ensue. If you would, please leave a review for me before you go!**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Thank you to Watearfair05 for the kind review! You inspired me to continue with this story, so I hope you like the update! :)**_

"Up!" Something gently tapped the side of my head. Groaning drowsily, I buried my face deeper into the hammock and winced at the taste of the Glade's alcohol that lingered on my tongue. "C'mon then, let's go. Rise and shine."

Newt's fingers wrapped around my ankle and gave it a pretty hard shake—hard enough to cause my foot to fall out of the hammock, and then I had to fling my arm out for balance before my entire body tumbled to the ground.

" _Newt!"_ I screeched, earning a few curses nearby from slumbering Gladers.

"Shhhh," He whispered. "Keep it down, would ya?"

I turned to give him a death glare and he simply waved impatiently at me, unperturbed. "I will kill you," I said in a low, sleep ridden voice that made me sound a little demonic.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, but first you have to get _up_."

I childishly mocked his English accent as I clumsily untangled myself from the hammock.

Newt simply chuckled at me—apparently embodying every syllable of the term _Morning Person,_ and cheerily told me that I was going to love breakfast this morning.

I groaned for the second time, pressing a hand to my churning stomach. "Food seems counterproductive at this point."

Newt gave a laugh and put his arm around my shoulders, but something about the way he did it seemed… off. Like there's something he's not saying. I frowned slightly as he said, "You'll be fine. You barely had anything to drink last night, you can't be _that_ buggin' sick."

I gave him a look and said, "Oh really?"

Before he could respond, he opened the door for the Homestead. I frowned because I hadn't noticed any smoke coming out of the little chimney. Experimentally, I gave the air a little sniff, but I couldn't pick up on any scent other than the constant slight note of manure and sweat that seemed to linger in every inch of this place. There wasn't even any hint of burnt food, which you could usually count on around meal times.

As Newt led the way to the kitchen, I wrote it off and chatted with him about the party last night. It had been to celebrate… well, _unofficially_ it was to celebrate the fact that Jack hadn't been sent out to the Maze. Gally pouted the whole night and didn't talk to many people, instead electing to glare daggers at my brother from behind his cup of Hooch.

Bizarrely enough, Newt and Jack got on unnervingly well. I don't know why it felt so weird for me to see them interacting, but… well, it was probably because Newt has mentioned to me in the past that he thought my brother reckless and when he said it he sounded annoyed, so I assumed he didn't _like_ Jack. That was not the case. At least, not if last night was anything to go by.

It shouldn't surprise me. Jack won Newt over almost as soon as the sun fell, and all it took was a drinking contest. I'm not sure which of them lost, but let's just say I failed. Miserably. And I'm still paying for it, because my head was throbbing and everything hurt.

Of course, as much as I hate to admit it—and I'll deny it if anyone were to accuse me of it—but I was definitely jealous. And a little pissed off. It's childish, but I can't help it… Newt is mine. Jack has literally _everyone_ else in this whole god-forsaken Glade! Well, besides Gally, but no one has Gally. The point is, most of the guys here pretty much ignore me as much as they can. I'm pretty good at telling when someone doesn't like me, and I just get vibes from the Gladers that they would rather I wasn't there at all.

My one good thing in this whole place was Newt. Inwardly, a childish part of me protested that Jack can't have him, too.

Newt led us to the kitchens. It was the first time I'd actually seen it, and I was surprised to find that breakfast wasn't ready yet. There were ingredients laid out across any open surface and most of the counters looked like they could use a pretty good scrubbing.

I recalled the tour that Newt gave me when we first arrived and how he mentioned that there were a few structures that had already been there by the time the first Gladers showed up. As I looked at the kitchen and the modern implements within it, like the counters and the wood-burning stove, I didn't have to wonder if this area was one of those places that was here before anyone else.

"Holy shuck, Newt, you're early!" Frypan teased, pulling me out of my musings. I was surprised to see him nearby, already prepping for the first meal of the day.

Newt smirked and glanced at me. "Well, I didn't want her to be late on her first day."

I stiffened. First day? I looked at Frypan again, then at the ingredients laid out on the coutners, and before I could really make the connection Frypan nodded at me and said, "You can start greasing the pans."

"What?" I looked to Newt. "Am I gonna be a Cook?"

Newt looked prepared for a fight from me, but Frypan butted in with a loud snort. "You didn't tell her yet?"

I looked back at Frypan, annoyance dominating the deep feeling of rejection that clenched my stomach uneasily. Newt looked slightly regretful as he put his hands out and tried to signal me to calm down. "It's not a big deal," He told me, and I tried to keep my emotions from crossing my face because Frypan observed our interaction carefully. "Just try it out today. If you hate it, we'll try something else."

Leaning in to lower my voice, I kept one eye on Frypan as I murmured, "But I thought I was going to be a Track-Hoe… that's what I… I mean…"

Newt scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "The Track-Hoes think you might be better suited for a different job."

"I don't understand." I shook my head at him. "I thought we did fine?"

"We did," Newt tried to reassure me. He hesitated, his head tilting. "Well, _I_ did. I mean… you did… Jill, come on," He finally broke his already thin cloud of optimism. "Your watermelon garden looked bloody jacked."

The tips of my ears were hot with embarrassment as I risked a quick glance over at Frypan, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn't listening and wasn't amused.

I shook my head, desperately wishing this conversation was finished because I didn't want to talk about how much I sucked and how I was rejected from yet another duty. As I turned away to go grab a pan, Newt sighed loudly behind me.

"Jill, don't take it too hard… it'll be fine. Sometimes Gladers have to try out _every_ buggin' duty before they find one, and even then it's just the one they suck at the least." He paused. "Just look at Ben," He joked. "He's the slowest Runner around, but he sucked too much at all the other jobs." Frypan was quietly cracking up behind us, and I felt a minutely less tense at this news. "It took me _months_ before I started doing what I do."

I snorted without looking up because _no one_ does what he does. He's literally the only one. But I wasn't upset with him, I was upset with myself, and with the fact that no one else in this Glade seems to have the decency to even pretend to put up with me. And they don't even care enough to tell me to my face. But none of that is Newt's fault, and I knew that, so I sighed and shrugged a shoulder. "I get it," I said, even though I didn't. "I think I can handle _greasing_ some pans."

"Jill…" Newt knew I was trying to save face in front of Frypan. He looked at Frypan, who was raising his eyebrows at Newt but otherwise offered nothing to the conversation, and Newt sighed. "I have some stuff to do today with Alby, so you're on your own."

 _Great._ I was pretty sure my bad attitude might have pissed him off. My jaw clenched and I smacked the grease down into the pan a with more force than necessary, so some of the white lard came back up and splattered my face. My mouth and chin tensed in disgust and Newt and Frypan cackled loudly at me, and I was fighting back my own grin as I pathetically wiped the nasty fat off my upper lip.

Newt came to pat my shoulder jovially, a glint of something that might have been affection in his eyes as he laughed at me. "You'll be fine, Jill. You're off to a great start!"

He snickered when I smacked his stomach, and even Frypan was grinning at our banter at this point. Frypan shook his head as Newt left, which left the two of us alone in the kitchen.

I wanted to ask about his name, but he wasn't even paying attention to me as he worked to crack eggs into a giant bowl, and threw miscellaneous vegetables and herbs into the mixture with a face that visibly expressed _Eh, good enough._

So I put my head down and totally coated the inside of all six pans he'd set out in grease. In my head, my imagination ran wild. I wondered how the decision had been made for me to be with Frypan today. Who suggested it? Did Newt approach Frypan? Or vice versa? Did the Track-Hoes suggest it? Or did they simply say they wanted me out, without caring where it was I was thrown to? Or did I have it totally wrong, and did they all actually care?

I snorted at that last thought, and Frypan paused to look at me. When I gestured that the pans were finished, he put his things down and came over to inspect them. I was already feeling annoyed, so when he did this my temper spiked because _what,_ I can't even be trusted to grease a few pans correctly?

Frypan picked one up and frowned at something in the corner. "What's that?" He asked, pointing at an edge. I leaned down and squinted. It looked fine to me. At least, it _did_ … until Frypan reached down to swipe at the grease and rolled it between his fingers. It was red for some reason. Where everything else was thin coat of an off white grease, that one corner of the pan was tainted slightly red.

Then, I thought I might actually throw up, because Frypan touched his tongue with the red-greased finger. His face scrunched up and he smacked his lips at me, shaking his head. "That's blood!" He accused, and I bristled.

"What?" I snatched the pan from his hand to inspect the corner closely. Sure enough, I'd somehow gotten blood into the corner of the pan while I was greasing it, and Frypan just _licked_ it.

I felt my stomach roll with nausea and I turned to Frypan miserably. "I have no idea how that… _where_ it even came from!"

Frypan picked up my hand and exclaimed at the blisters he found there. Inwardly, I cursed, because I hadn't even considered them when I started. Of _course_ that would be an issue. "What the shuck, greenie!?" He cried. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I—I don't know," I sputtered as I pulled my hand out of his tight grasp. "I forgot! I'm sorry!"

"Well it's a good thing I caught it when I did!" He told me, as he picked up the pan and carried it over to a basin of slightly murky water. Frypan pulled out a rag from inside the basin and wrung it out, dipping down into the pan to clean out the infected edge.

With a somewhat exasperated tone, he told me to cover my hands with bandages while he checked the rest of the pans.

I grumbled to myself as I trudged over to find something that I could cover my blisters with. There were some rags folded up in the corner beside where the clean dishes were stacked, so I grabbed two and folded them into long narrow strips, just wide enough to cover my wounds. After I tied them around my hands I made my way back over to Frypan and asked him what he wanted me to do next.

He looked somewhat annoyed as he side-eyed me, glancing at my bandages from the corner of his eyes. Frypan sighed quietly, stirring the pan of ham that he'd begun to cook as I was taking care of my hands. "Just wait until the eggs are done in the oven. You can dish them out."

Great. So basically, I can't actually help cook. "Don't the Gladers usually dish their own food?"

Frypan sent me a dirty look, but then quickly looked back to the pan of frying ham. "It's fine," He said. "You can dish it this morning."

I suppressed a frustrated sigh.

* * *

The Gladers were more than a little resistant to letting me get their food for them. They were pretty confused, and most of them were still visibly groggy with sleep due to the fact that they'd just woken up. It was a pretty unpleasant reminder of exactly how early Gally had risen me from the dead this morning. By the time breakfast was ready, the sun was just finished rising, and since the sun was their natural alarm clock, so were most of the boys. Ordinarily I would just now be climbing out of my hammock.

At first I had to explain to the boys why I was supposed to dish their food to them this morning. They looked at me like I was crazy, but let me dish out their morning meal of egg-casserole to them. I didn't bother to give them their ham—I just concentrated on the pan of eggs and let them handle that part. After the first six or so groups passed through, word must have spread through the tables, because I no longer had to explain myself as I dished the food out.

Luckily, I never spilled any food. That just would have been the cherry on top of this klunk sundae. Interestingly enough, my job put me in the prime-position to hear all the latest gossip.

Blame it on my dangerously low self-esteem, but I had anticipated quite a lot of klunk to be said about me. Instead, I was largely ignored. Nothing was said about me past a few strange looks when I plopped a healthy serving of eggs onto their plates. In a way that offensive in its own rite. It said that I wasn't even worth mentioning to them; that I was so low on the totem pole that I didn't even rate high enough to be worthy of breakfast gossip. Mostly, though, the Gladers were talking about Jack and Gally; how today was the first day they had to work together, and what they all thought would happen, whether there would be a fight or not and if it would happen before lunch.

I was surprised to learn that most of the Gladers were rooting for Jack, despite his apparent disregard for the rules. I heard quite a few say they hoped Jack kicked Gally's ass, which was somewhat surprising, but it was probably because Gally was so widely hated. Because of what Jack had done by running into the Maze, I was expecting the Gladers to feel fairly uneasy about the fact that he hadn't been thrown out. This couldn't be less true.

When Jack finally came to breakfast, he was dripping with perspiration. I told him to stay back from the food and that I would bring him his plate, but he said he didn't want it. He elected to grab an apple and two slices of fried ham instead, and when I asked him why he was so sweaty, I found out that he had gone for a run this morning.

The Gladers _loved_ that. I heard a lot of them making wagers about how long it would take before Jack was officially made a Runner—especially when he took his breakfast to eat by Minho and Ben. I thought of what Newt said about Ben this morning and watched the way Jack teased him, and how loudly Minho laughed at him.

I sighed and plopped another helping of eggs onto a Glader's plate.

"Well," Newt said from behind me, though the way he said it sounded more like _wow_. I turned to see he and Alby approaching me from the Homestead. "I had heard it, but I couldn't quite believe it until I saw it with my own eyes."

Alby spoke while Newt patted my shoulder patronizingly. "I've never seen Frypan give someone such a menial job before," Alby snorted with a genuine grin.

I wanted to make a smart comment about how apparently well suited I was for this job that required literally no skill at all, but I was feeling a little too sensitive for such a self-deprecating joke, and besides that, Alby was the most important person in the Glade. It would be pretty bold to make such a joke to him.

So I gave an insincere snort and put my head down. "Aw, that's okay, Jilly," Newt teased me. "There's always lunch!"

I elbowed his side and he laughed and shrank away. Alby rolled his eyes with a grudging smile and asked for a plate of food, declaring that he was starving. When his plate was in hand, he hesitated and looked up at me, asking who had prepared it like he was afraid _I_ had been the one who cooked it.

At my incredulous expression, Alby immediately waved me off. "I was joking," He told me. "I'm sorry, that was a really bad joke."

"Ignore him," Newt cheekily dismissed Alby with a wave of his hand. "He's bad with people."

"Hey!" Alby exclaimed, the most cheery I'd ever seen him behave. I let out an unsure laugh and looked down, tucking some hair behind my ear. I wanted to say something, to add to the conversation, but today was just not my day because I couldn't think of anything. After an awkward pause Alby politely took his leave and went to sit beside Minho.

I sighed and looked at Newt with an unguarded expression, conveying all the emotions I'd been bottling since the first mistake I'd made in the kitchen this morning. Newt laughed at my face and I cracked a smile as well, shaking my head.

"I hate this," I lowly told him. "I can't even smear grease on a pan without shucking it up! I don't think I'm ever going to find something I'm good at!"

Newt gave my shoulder a light shove. "Don't be so melodramatic, Jill. It's just going to take you some time. This isn't coming as easy to you as it did the other Gladers, and maybe that's not a bad thing."

I noticed the way Newt said that—like he knew exactly how I felt, and like he could relate more than he was letting on. My mind wandered back to that time he told me of his brief stint as a Runner. I looked down and nodded.

Lowering my voice, I said, "It just… I _know_ that none of these jobs I've tried so far are what I'm supposed to be doing, you know? I feel like… like I'm just wasting my time."

Newt didn't say anything. He poked at the food on his plate and stayed quiet as I continued.

"But _none_ of this feels right. This is all wrong." Suddenly, I was angry. "This whole shucking thing is _wrong_ , and it feels like _I'm_ the only one who can see it!"

Newt suddenly reached over to dump his food into the trash, apparently not hungry anymore. "You're _not_ the only one Jill."

I looked at him, studied how his head was bent and he wouldn't look at me. His shaggy blonde hair was sort of messy, and he looked like he could use a shower, and a brush. I wanted to reach out and grab his arm to make him look at me—because if he wouldn't tell me what he meant, maybe I could see what he was thinking. But I didn't. I stood back, safely behind the table that was between us, restlessly wringing the wooden spoon in my hand.

A Glader came up to dump his food and Newt came out of his thoughts with a breath like he'd been holding it. He sighed and looked away from the Glader. His face was back to its old expression, if a little more tired than before. "If you don't like being a Cook then you can switch jobs again tomorrow. Maybe you could try being a Bricknick with your brother."

I made a face, cringing at the prospect. "Can't I just stick with you?"

Newt gave me a boyish grin that caught me off guard. My heart skipped a beat and I felt my face heat up as he admitted, "As much as I would prefer that, no." Then, in a moment of sincerity, Newt said, "Jill, you've got to find something that you can do for _you_. Your time in this place will feel like an eternity if you can't figure out something that gives you a purpose."

I wonder what Alby would say if he heard Newt say that. I also wondered why he seemed to save these rare moments of genuine wisdom for me, while for everyone else he was sarcastic and somewhat nosey. Then I mildly wondered if _that's_ what gave him purpose.

Our conversation was cut short when Frypan came back through and told me to bring in the empty pans to wash.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident. I got through lunch and dinner without ruining something, but that may have something to do with the small, absurdly easy tasks that I was given, too. I knew that I would never try to be a Cook again—even if I had to be a Slopper.

My evening was spent lending an ear to Jack, so he could vent to me about his absolutely 'horrible' day he was forced to spend with Gally. He's now convinced that Gally has set out to make him fail, (show of hands for who's shocked?) citing the impossible tasks that Gally put him in charge of. Like fixing things with nothing but a hammer, and if Jack tried to point out that it was impossible to fix—say, a hole in a wall where the sticks were coming apart without at least something to secure the sticks, Gally would respond by telling him that if he was going to complain about such a simple job then he could tell Alby himself that he wanted a different duty.

So while Jack came up with inventive ways to fix things using only a hammer, the Gladers were naturally impressed with his perseverance.

Me, on the other hand… I became known as the grub-greenie for a day. In fact, some Gladers even started calling me by my new nickname! _Grubbie_. Isn't it cute?

I'm still not convinced that Newt wasn't the one who coined the name, but either way he thought it was hilarious. Jack was sympathetic about the nickname, but when I complained that no one seemed to like me, he acted like I wasn't trying hard enough, which really pissed me off. I couldn't imagine myself working with Jack, so I decided maybe I would bite the bullet and confront the keeper of the Track-Hoes myself.

I was well aware of Zart's nickname that the Gladers called him. Zart the Fart. As such, I mentally prepared myself for any offensive odors, but when I approached him that evening lounging against a log in the grass, I didn't notice any stink at all.

"Excuse me…" I nervously stood a respectable distance away, and Zart looked up at me with tired eyes.

"Oh, hey Jill." At least he didn't call me Grubbie. Apparently he can sympathize with me _there_. "Your name is Jill, right?"

I winced. "Yeah, um… I was just wondering why you asked me to be moved into a different job? It was my first time gardening, there has to be some sort of a learning curve, right?"

Zart looked surprised at my direct confrontation. He raised his eyebrows at me. "It's not the quality of your work that I was worried about. You left half-way through finishing the watermelon garden, and even after you were done in the meeting I still had to send Stan after you so you could finish your job. I just thought you didn't like it."

"No," I quickly shook my head. "I did like it! I mean, I _do_ —It's just—" I broke off and looked away. "I mean, I thought my brother was going to be sent out, you know?"

Zart's face changed from tired and resolved to tired and understanding. "Oh, yeah, I get that. Okay. Well, you can help me tomorrow, if you want. I just thought you kept leaving because you hated the work. Most Gladers don't like it."

I gave him a huge grin and sighed, inwardly laughing at how much I had misunderstood why they'd recommended I take a different job. "So I'll be there tomorrow, then."

Zart shrugged his shoulder. "Sounds good. But you can be the one to tell Alby." He turned away, going back to whatever he was doing to the grass in front of his legs.

I took my silent dismissal, some of the stress that I'd felt from the day melting away just a bit. I didn't know if being a Track-Hoe would give me purpose per se, but it was something that I felt like I could learn to enjoy doing.

And with that, there was another day down, and I felt closer to finding my role in the Glade.

"Hey, Grubbie," A Glader hollered as I made my way to the Homestead. He waved his hand at me. "Tell Frypan to lay off the grease next time! There was too much at breakfast, it's still making me sick."

I sighed and rubbed my face.


End file.
